


I'm Still Here

by etcetera_nine



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, I Tried, Slow Burn, but really a love story, cameos from your favorite NPCs, canon-compliant but also sometimes not?, dialogue-heavy, main quest, seriously there's a lot of talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 124,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etcetera_nine/pseuds/etcetera_nine
Summary: When Argis is made housecarl to the new thane of Markarth, what he expects is a boring life, trailing after a spoiled, disdainful nobleman. What he wants is a brave warrior, a friend he can fight alongside.What he gets, though... is one surprise after another.





	1. The Girl on the Stairs

Argis wasn’t paying attention as he made his way down the steps from Understone Keep, which explained why he collided spectacularly with another person, who was climbing their way up.

“Hey!” he grunted, stumbling back. The other person—a woman, in a long green dress—leaned back, teetering dangerously on the stone steps until Argis’ arm shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, righting them both.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Sorry, I—”

She was a small woman, and his barreling into her had nearly sent her flying down the stairs. A Breton, probably, Argis thought as he glanced at her, letting go of her wrist. The long, dark green dress she wore had been well tailored to her, emphasizing the curves of her breasts and her hips. Her hair, a dark mass of curls, fell past her shoulders. Several necklaces and amulets hung from her neck, criss-crossing the expanse of pale, smooth skin and dipping into the little valley between her breasts. One of the necklaces had snagged in her hair, though it didn’t seem like she’d noticed. As Argis raised his eyes to her face, he saw one dark eyebrow raise, the corner of her red mouth turning up in a smirk.

_Smooth, idiot. She’s just caught you staring at her tits._

“Uh,” he stammered. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, smirking still, her curls bouncing. Her head barely came up to his chest. She gestured to a book strewn on the steps. “It’s fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He bent down to pick it up for her, noticing the the drawing of a tree that graced its cover. Judging by her accent, the slight lilt of her voice, she was a Breton from High Rock, not one of the Bretons born in the Reach. He hadn’t seen her in Markarth before…

He handed the book over. The rings on her fingers glimmered as she took it back from him.

“Thanks,” she said.

They stared at each other for a second.

“So I’ll just....” she pointed behind him, toward the Keep.

Argis stared at her some more. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, smudged with something that made them look even darker. He felt hypnotized. “What?” he asked.

“Be going,” she finished, looking at him expectantly. “Excuse me.”

Fuck, he was in her way. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he chanted mentally, moving over so she could climb past him.

“Bye,” she said, turning the corner of her mouth up again. She climbed up the steps lightly, and he turned away from her.

He made his way down to the bottom, pausing once he was on level ground to turn back, just in case.

To his surprise, not only had she stopped at the top of the steps to look at him, but, as her eyes snapped quickly up to his face, he realized that she had been watching him walk away. Watching his ass walk away, specifically.

She grinned and gave him a quick wave of her fingers, scampering behind the pillar to the Keep’s door, and he threw back his head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably know where this is going, but I hope you enjoy the journey anyway.


	2. A New Thane in Markarth

Argis was still chuckling as he pushed open the door to the Silver-Blood Inn. He nodded to Kleppr in greeting as he passed the bar, holding up one finger.

“Got a man who needs a drink, woman,” Kleppr shouted.

“I can see that, I’m not blind yet, you old bastard,” his wife screamed back at him, as she swept underneath a table near the wall. To Argis, she smiled sweetly. “Hello Argis, love, Vorstag’s in the back.”

“Thanks Frabbi,” he called. Smiling, he pushed his way past the patrons to the rear of the inn. Vorstag was sitting by the fire, like usual, nursing a mug of ale.

“My friend, my friend!” Vorstag cried, slapping his shoulder as he pulled up the seat next to him. “Sit, drink with me!” He paused, staring at him suspiciously. “Why do you look so cheerful? You’re never this cheerful.”

“I think… I think I just met someone,” Argis admitted, settling himself into the chair.

“Like, a woman, someone?” Vorstag asked.

“Yes, a woman someone.”

“Where? Here in Markarth?” Vorstag asked.

“Yes, here in Markarth,” Argis repeated. “I ran into her, when I was on my way back from the Keep.” Literally, he thought to himself.

“Well, shit,” Vorstag exclaimed. “Has my friend the Bulwark finally been breached? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you with a woman.”

Argis snorted. “Just because I have some discretion…”

“And it’s about time you thought about settling down, old man. You’re already, what? Thirty-three?”

“Thirty-two until First Seed next year,” Argis corrected. “You know I’m two years younger than you, you ass.”

“Well?” Vorstag asked. “What’s her name? Where is she from? Is she going to be here long? When are you going to see her again?” He took a long drink, raising his eyebrows expectantly behind his mug. 

“I… I have no idea,” Argis admitted. “I didn’t ask.”

“My friend, you are a fucking idiot.” Smiling, Vorstag drained the rest of his mead. “Well, tell me what she looks like at least.”

He swirled his fingers around by his head, trying to mimic her curls. “She has hair… and…” He thought of her red mouth, the corner turning up as she smiled at him. “And a mouth.”

Vorstag stared at him, dumbfounded. “Argis, you were never the most loquacious sort, but you need to give me _some_ details, man.”

Argis had known Vorstag for years, and considered him his closest friend. They had joined the Legion at the same time and met their first day, and since then they had fought together, killed together, slept in ditches and trapped rabbits and skinned deer and drank until they passed out together. They even looked alike, and until Argis got his scar and grew a beard, it was hard for those who didn’t know them to tell them apart. Their biggest difference was something Vorstag had told him when they were on their first patrol by themselves.

“I like men,” Vorstag had said, casually, prodding the fire. “You should know, since we’re friends.”

“You like men...?” Argis had repeated, confused. He looked up from his map, where he’d been trying to memorize the maze of mountains that made up the Reach. “To…?”

“To fuck,” Vorstag had said.

“Oh,” he replied. He was just 16, but had known, of course, that sometimes men liked men, and sometimes women liked women. There were two women who lived together, with a child, in the village where he’d grown up. “I… I don’t. I’m sorry.” He had felt immensely disappointed that he would lose the only friend he had made, leaving him alone and overwhelmed again, surrounded by tired, bitter strangers.

But Vorstag had snorted. “I’m not hitting on you, you ass, you’re not my type. Gods, it would be like fucking my brother. I’m just telling you, so you know.”

Argis had laughed, then, relieved. “All right. Now I know.”

And that was that.

When Argis had nearly lost his eye and been demoted to guard trainer, Vorstag quit the Legion in protest. Then they both got so drunk they could barely stand and woke up outside Bothela’s with identical tattoos.

With Vorstag working as a mercenary based out of the Silver-Blood Inn, and Argis training guards outside Markarth’s guard tower, they saw each other on a fairly regular basis. He usually told Vorstag everything, although up until now there hadn’t been much to tell.

But for some reason, he wanted to keep the details of the girl on the stairs to himself for a little bit longer.

“She’s pretty,” he said at last, with a shrug. Vorstag nodded at that, satisfied.

“And how are her tits?” asked a new voice. The sound of a chair scraping on stone made the two men look over at the source of the interruption.

“Fuck off, Degaine,” muttered Argis, as Degaine pulled his chair over. “Since when are you allowed back in here?”

“Paid off my tab just now,” Degaine crowed, raising his tankard. “Some rich woman gave me some coins in the market earlier. Now _her_ tits were spectacular. I told her that she was so beautiful she must be in Markarth to train with the Dibellan priestesses. Asked if she could get me that statue they have locked up—”

“Degaine,” Vorstag said, running his hand over his eyes. “We’ve been over this. Not every woman who comes to the city is training to be a priestess of Dibella.”

“Well, eventually _someone_ has to be,” replied Degaine sullenly.

“And nobody is going to get you that statue,” Argis added.

Degaine grumbled, crossing his arms.

Vorstag rolled his eyes, turning back to Argis. “So what were you doing in the Keep? Jarl Igmund want something from you?”

“Oh,” Argis said, realizing that he’d been so busy talking about the girl on the stairs that he hadn’t even shared his news. “I have a new job. Jarl Igmund’s promoted me. There’s a new thane in Markarth, I’m meant to be his housecarl.”

“You’re kidding!” Vorstag said, looking at Argis with his brows raised.

Argis shook his head. “Faleen recommended me. New thane’s supposed to move in tomorrow. They’ve cleaned up Vlindrel Hall for him, should be ready by now.”

“Well congratulations, my friend!” Vorstag cried. He clapped Argis hard, on the shoulder.

“More drinks,” Degaine shouted, towards the bar. “Another round over here, my rich friend is paying!”

“For fuck’s _sake_ Degaine—” Argis started, but Kleppr was already on his way over.

“To be a housecarl is a big honor,” Vorstag was saying. “You should celebrate! Faleen, that wonderful woman! Always liked her.”

Argis grinned. He and Vorstag and Faleen had served for several years in the same garrison in the Legion, until she was chosen to be Jarl Igmund’s housecarl. He’d seen her often since coming to Markarth, and knew her role well, but even so, she’d given him a thorough run-through of his responsibilities after Jarl Igmund had told him the news.

“Vlindrel Hall!” Vorstag continued. “No more sleeping in that stuffy, packed guard tower with the rest of the men. And more money to send back to your family! A nice, restful life in exchange for watching over a rich man. Congratulations, my friend,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder again. “You deserve it.”

Argis felt his smile falter a little.

“What’s this about a celebration, lads?” asked Kleppr. He glanced around quickly—probably to see if his wife was watching—and dragged a nearby table over, taking a seat next to them by the fire.

“Our Bulwark is the housecarl of the new thane of Markarth!” Degaine cried, then burped.

“Thought I saw you smiling earlier,” Kleppr said. “It’s a good look on you, Bulwark.”

“Thanks,” Argis rumbled, embarrassed. “Don’t suppose you’ve met the new thane, Kleppr?”

“Can’t be sure,” Kleppr said, shaking his head. “There’ve been a lot of newcomers through lately though, I can say that much.”

Argis opened his mouth, intending to ask about the girl from the stairs, but then Klepper glanced around again and motioned for the other three to lean in closer.

“You know what I have heard though, lads? Heard rumors that the _Dragonborn’s_ been seen in Markarth.”

The three of them gaped at him. “The Dragonborn?” Argis managed.

Kleppr nodded. “Aye. You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”

“Well, yeah,” said Argis. “Who hasn’t?”

It had been about a year since word of the dragon at Helgen had first reached Markarth. Argis had, like everyone else, dismissed it as wild gossip. But the rumors had kept coming—that there was a Dragonborn, gifted in the way of the Voice, who had slain a dragon outside of Whiterun and absorbed its soul. Even out in Markarth they had heard the Greybeards calling, their voices rumbling from the Throat of the World.

The gossip spread quickly. Dragons returning. The _World-Eater_ returning. How could anyone hope to defeat a dragon who wanted to destroy the world?

And several months ago, from the top floor of the guard tower, in the early hours of the morning, Argis had sworn he had seen something large and dark, soaring over Fort Harmugstahl.

Where there was smoke, there was fire, Argis knew.

“Think your thane is the Dragonborn, Bulwark?” The raspy voice of Degaine interrupted his thoughts.

For a moment, Argis felt his heart start to race, his blood stirring. If his thane was the Dragonborn… He could fight again. Travel. Finally make it out of the Reach…

“If my thane is the Dragonborn,” Argis said, trying to keep the hope out of his voice, “ _then_ I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Kleppr said. “If the Dragonborn really is in Markarth, he’s not been through the inn.”

“You know what he looks like?” Argis asked, curious.

Kleppr nodded. “I’ve heard he’s a red-headed Nord warrior,” he said. “Young, but fierce in battle. Calls himself ‘The Slayer.’ He travels with a Breton enchantress who bespells his weapons so they set his enemies...” He paused, for dramatic effect. “...On fire.”

Vorstag shook his head. “You heard wrong, Kleppr. He’s a mage, an Imperial. Friend of mine saw him clear out a bandit camp, near Riften. He had another mage with him, a woman. They killed all the bandits in minutes, with fire and lightning.”

“Ha,” Degaine shouted. “You’re _both_ wrong! I heard he’s an orc, from a stronghold in the Reach. A huge ranger, deadly with a bow. His woman is an alchemist. She brews the poisons he dips his arrows into, before he shoots his enemies through the throat.” 

Kleppr snorted. “The Dragonborn, an orc?”

“You have to admit, Degaine, it doesn’t seem likely,” said Vorstag.

Degaine scowled. “And you think you’ve got it right, with your Imperial mage? You think some milk-drinking _mage_ could be the Dragonborn? I heard this orc was a beast!” He looked at Kleppr. “Not like the skinny little redheaded kid you heard about. Probably still wets his bed.”

“You calling me a liar?” Kleppr roared. He stood up, bumping against the table, sending their tankards flying. Degaine rose from his seat immediately, then shoved at Kleppr’s chest.

The second Kleppr stood Argis had started calculating. Both the innkeeper and Degaine could be subdued quickly, he thought. He could easily separate the two. The only problem he’d have would be if Vorstag decided to get involved in the fray as well.

And then Vorstag stood and made a lunge for Degaine. “Don’t you touch him, you drunk—”

Argis rolled his eyes, bracing his arms against the chair to stand up from his seat. But a shrill voice interrupted him and made the other men stop in their tracks.

“Do you lads hear yourselves?”

They all looked over at Frabbi, who had come up behind them and was standing there, holding a tray of drinks with a skeptical look on her face.

“Eh?” said Kleppr. “What are you on about, woman?” He let go of Degaine’s shirt, which he’d been gripping with both fists.

“Do you lads not notice any overlap in these far-fetched rumours of the Dragonborn you’ve been hearing? Any of these stories have anything in common?” She looked at all of them, her tired eyes settling last on Argis.

Feeling confused, Argis shook his head. The rest of them did the same.

“Ugh,” Frabbi said. “Men.” She threw the tankards down on the table, not caring that they wobbled perilously. “Sit down and behave, or you’re all barred. You too, Kleppr, you ugly old bastard.”

She stalked off. The rest of them looked around the table at each other, chagrined.

“Witch,” Kleppr muttered, at her retreating back, but only after she was out of hearing distance.

Degaine’s eyes lit up.

“I fucked a witch once,” he said. “She specialized in ice magic, and she did this thing to my balls that—”

“ _Fuck off, Degaine_ ,” said Vorstag and Argis, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frabbi knows what's up :)


	3. Vlindrel Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be a good time to mention that for some of these chapters, I have painstakingly recreated scenery from the game, down to the alchemy ingredients and the books I've found. Other times I just... completely made stuff up. The Markarth house is a little bit of both.

It was nearly midnight by the time Argis left the Silver-Blood Inn and made his way carefully up the steps to Vlindrel Hall. He felt satisfied, pleasantly buzzed. As the night had gone on more people had come to their table at the inn to say hello—Cosnach, drunk as usual, Yngvar, Endon and Kerah, even Moth, the jarl’s smith—and once Vorstag had informed them of Argis’ new role, they’d bought him a drink.

He stopped at the top of the steps, standing on the porch and taking in the view of the city at night. Lights were blinking out one by one as people extinguished their lamps and went to bed. The moons hung low, Masser looming heavy in the sky. In the morning, he knew, the view would be even better, as the sun rose in the East and dawn spread throughout the Reach.

He opened the heavy door with the key Raerek gave him, letting it shut behind him slowly and locking it from the inside. The jarl’s men had already been in, as promised, and the house was clean and decorated. They had done a nice job, Argis admitted to himself. The house looked warm and homey, lived-in and comforting, a nice change from the cold stone of the guard tower.

He gave himself a quick tour, checking out the spacious main room and the alchemy lab, enchanting room and kitchen off to the side. There were several bookshelves, which seemed promising. Another entryway gave way to the sleeping area, with a table in the middle, a large bedroom to the left, a smaller bedroom to the right and a bathing area through a doorway between the two. He assumed the smaller bedroom was his, and he headed up the few steps to investigate.

His belongings were in his chest from the guard tower, now at the foot of his new bed. He checked first to be sure that the lock hadn’t been tampered with—he trusted most of the men in Markarth about as far as he could throw them—and then, once he was satisfied that it hadn’t been, double-checked the contents, anyway. He didn’t have much—some spare clothes, an extra set of boots, his steel armor and shield, his books, a couple of swords he’d bought over the years—but it was his. He counted the admittedly small amount of coins in his coin purse—all there. The letters from his family were where they should be, too, wedged inside his copy of _A Dream of Sovngarde_. Then again, the jarl’s men didn’t usually bother rifling through books.

They had brought his small mead barrel over as well, and put it on the shelf to the side of the bed. He picked it up warily, but it was still half-full, as he’d left it. Thankfully no one had helped themselves to any of it.

He put his spare clothes and boots in the wardrobe, and his books on the shelf. His coin purse, armor and weapons he left in the chest. Then he headed across the hall.

His thane’s room had a large bed, made with deep green sheets. Knowing that he was alone, he bent down to let his fingers drift over to the fabric, feeling its softness between his fingers.

“Must be nice,” he muttered. He’d never slept in a bed like this one. Shaking his head, he stood again. The bed he had was fine. Better than fine. He’d slept on worse.

Argis looked around the room, trying to get a feel for his new thane. It was nearly empty of anything that could give a clue to his personality. Besides a few flowers and some nice crockery, there was some basic weaponry—iron greatswords, crossed behind a shield—hanging on the wall above the bed. He wasn’t sure if they belonged to his thane, or were just put there by the jarl’s men for decoration.

On a whim, he opened one of the wardrobe doors, but closed it quickly when he caught a glimpse of fine furs and fabrics. The chest at the foot of the bed he left alone.

He wasn’t sure what he was searching for. Looking at his thane’s room had put him in an odd mood. Despite the honor of the position, the gratefulness he had felt to Faleen for nominating him, the cheerfulness as he had headed over to the inn to celebrate with Vorstag—there was something that bothered him about being a housecarl that he couldn’t shake.

A roof, a bed, a warm meal. And coin, on top of it. More than he made as a trainer, plenty to send to his family. Certainly more than he had made as a soldier. Nothing to complain about, he told himself. So what if he would never fight again?

He was now a glorified bodyguard to a rich, pampered thane who wore furs and collected fancy crockery and slept in an enormous bed with velvety green sheets. He needed to get used to it.

He sighed.

Then again, there was always the chance that his new thane was the Dragonborn, as Degaine seemed to think. The thought of it cheered him up considerably, and he left his thane’s room to potter around the rest of the house.

He explored for another half hour or so: The tub in the bathing area between the two bedrooms was enormous, a bonus of Dwemer architecture. He glanced quickly into the enchanting room, though he left everything untouched—to him, any sort of magic was unknown and strange, terrifying to think about. He shuddered, picturing the many briarhearts he had fought, their unfocused stares, the swirl of pale blue light that shot from their hands when they raised the dead bodies around them—dead Forsworn, dead soldiers, dead friends, dead—

Enough of that, he told himself. Enough of that tonight.

He closed the door.

He pulled a bottle of brandy from the kitchen and sat down by the fire in the main room, not quite ready to sleep.

There was a book on the table, a copy of _The Third Door_ , which Argis hadn’t read. He skimmed the first few pages quickly—it was about a warrior woman, who’d had her heart broken—but put it down before too long. He didn’t really feel like reading.

The fire was low, and he put another couple of logs in. If his thane arrived in the morning, as the jarl had said, it would be nice for him to come in to a warmed house.

Argis leaned back in the chair, sipping the brandy slowly and looking around the room. He looked at the mannequin by the enchanting room, empty and waiting for armor. He thought of the shield and swords above the fine bed. Would they really fight together, as he hoped? Or would it be as Vorstag said, a nice, restful life, babysitting a rich man?

Either way, it would be difficult, thinking of taking care of someone beside himself, watching someone else’s back. He hadn’t done that since the Legion.

‘You’ll be protecting your thane with your life, Argis,’ Faleen had told him, earlier that afternoon. He had protested, at first, that he’d been training guards for years now, and he hadn’t been in battle since he’d nearly lost his eye and almost died. When it came down to it, what if he had to fight, and failed?

‘You’ll do well,’ Faleen had said. ‘I trust you the most of anyone in this city. I wouldn’t have recommended you for the role if I didn’t have total faith in you, Argis. And your thane. You’ll be a great team.’

A great team. The Dragonborn and Argis the Bulwark, battling their way through Skyrim, through Tamriel. Defending settlements from bandits, ridding the Reach of Forsworn, clearing the skies of dragons. Slaying Alduin, the _World-Eater_ , _together_ —

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Argis thought. Just take things one day at a time.

The door opened.

Argis was on his feet immediately, suddenly and shockingly sober. He could have sworn he had locked the door. His sword, he realized, thinking quickly, was still back in his room. With his armor. Shit.

“You lost?” he called out. Maybe the intruder would flee when they saw him. Many people did. He drew himself up to his full height and tried to look intimidating.

The intruder came further into the light. He was small, wearing a traveling cloak with a large hood that obscured his face.

“Hope you’re not planning any trouble, friend,” Argis called out again. I could crush you like a bug, even without my armor, he added silently.

“No trouble,” the intruder called, and Argis realized immediately that not only was he a she, but that her lilting voice was vaguely familiar. “I just thought I’d come by and introduce myself.”

She pulled down her hood, shook out her curls, and grinned at him, the corner of her mouth turning up.

The girl from the stairs.

“Wh— what—” he stammered. “What are you doing? You can’t be in here.” Several possibilities crossed his mind, simultaneously, as the girl from the stairs walked up the entryway towards him.

“Why not?” she asked him, smiling.

Possibility one: She just wanted to say hello, and then she would leave.

Possibility two: She wanted a drink, and some conversation, and then she would leave.

Possibility three—and this was his favorite: She wanted him, and she wanted to stay the night. And she was so, so lovely, and it had been an eternity since he’d been with a woman, and her skin looked like it would feel like silk, and he could think of no better way to break in his new bed.

He wondered if she’d be insulted if he asked her to leave before the morning, before his thane arrived.

She walked over to him, where he was standing by the table, looking up at him with her dark eyes. Under her traveling cloak, she was still wearing the long green dress. She still barely came up to his chest. He wanted to bend down and kiss her, and he desperately, desperately hoped he was right about the third possibility.

“I’m Valerie,” said the girl from the stairs. She held out her hand. “I’m the new thane.”

And that… that was not one of the possibilities he had considered.

“Oh,” Argis said.

Well, _shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through all the dramatic irony I'm throwing at our poor Argis. More is coming :) Let me know what you think!


	4. Making Conversation

The next morning, Argis was scrambling eggs in the kitchen when he heard his thane’s door creak open. There was the sound of bare feet on stone, and then, after a moment, a soft, “Good morning, Argis,” from the kitchen doorway behind him. 

He turned around. She was wearing a long white tunic—perhaps it had been a man’s shirt, once—and gray leggings. He tried not to notice the way the tunic was nearly slipping over one pale shoulder. Her curly hair had been tied back, and she had washed the dark smudges off from around her eyes. Her feet were bare, and they seemed, to Argis, incredibly small. She looked much younger in the morning than she had last night, in the entryway, and before that on the stairs to the Keep. 

He felt vaguely guilty, suddenly, for the things he had been thinking about doing to her. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, my thane,” he said. “Sleep well?” 

“Valerie, Argis, please. And yes, thanks.” 

He nodded, uncomfortable in a multitude of ways. “Valerie.” 

Last night they hadn’t spoken for long. After his awkwardness when she introduced herself, he had shown her around quickly. Then she’d said she had had a long day, and wanted to go to sleep. He hadn’t heard any sound coming from her room until she opened the door in the morning. In his own room, he had laid awake, tossing and turning for hours on his small bed as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened that day. 

Now, she walked over to him and he turned back around, pretending the eggs needed his immediate attention. 

“What are you making?” 

“Eggs,” he said, pointing to the pot. He motioned to the skillet, and then the counter, where four pieces of toasted bread rested, still warm from the fire. “And bacon, and toast. I could make you some, if you like?” He glanced down at her. 

She raised her dark eyebrows. “So all this food is… all for you?” 

“Um,” he said, looking at the spread he was making. “No?” Gods, he was doing  _ everything _ wrong. 

She laughed then, and he felt a bit better. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Clearly you need it.” She grabbed a piece of the toast he had made, and a plate. “I’ll just take this. I don’t like to eat a lot in the morning.” She headed over to the table. “Is there butter?” 

Argis nodded, pointing towards the table with the wooden spoon. 

She sat at the little kitchen table, buttering her toast. Her hands were small as well, he noticed, looking down at his own, which seemed nearly double the size. She was still wearing the rings she had had on yesterday, although she had taken the necklaces off. 

He took a seat with his plates at the table across from her. She ate daintily, looking around at the kitchen. He tried not to shovel the food in his mouth with moderate success. 

He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Should he be making conversation? “So how long have you been in Markarth?” he asked, but at the same time she spoke as well. 

She laughed. “Sorry. Go ahead.” 

“No, it’s all right, my thane— Valerie. You first.” 

She swallowed a bite of the toast. “I was just saying that you should tell me about yourself. I heard a bit about you from Faleen, but… Are you from Markarth? Had you been a guard for long?” 

He shook his head. “I wasn’t a guard, not really. I’m from Black Mountain, a settlement to the north of here, in the Reach but closer to Haafingar. Joined up with the Legion years ago. After I was injured”—here her eyes flickered to the scars that crossed half his face, but he kept going—“I was moved from active duty to training the jarl’s guardsmen. A lot of them are farm boys, or kids who grew up in the mines. They don’t know how to handle weapons, so I show— showed them how to use a sword and a shield, and how to keep from getting killed. Hopefully.” He swallowed, amazed he’d talked so much. He took a drink from his tankard, waiting for her to ask about his scars. 

“Hmm.” She was nodding. “Did you like it?” 

“Training the guards?” 

She nodded again. 

“It was… all right,” he said slowly. He didn’t know how much she knew about Markarth, the grip of the Silver-Bloods, their hands in every pocket. The farm boys who arrived, full of dreams of living in a big city, only to find themselves huddling against the wall in the Warrens after a few months, clawing at their skin until it bled, desperate for skooma. The constant threat of the Forsworn, humming underneath it all. “What brings you to Markarth?” he asked, changing the subject. 

She stared at him, and for a second he was sure that she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. But then she took a drink from her own tankard, breaking her gaze. He turned back to his plate and stabbed some bacon. 

“I’ve been traveling,” she said. “I’m from High Rock, originally, but I always wanted to see it, the City of Stone. It sounded so beautiful when I heard about it. So I came here, wound up doing some favors for the jarl and… I thought I’d stay. Markarth is really…” She paused. She only had a crust of the toast left, and was currently tearing it into tiny pieces. “It’s really so different from anywhere else in Skyrim, you know?” 

He didn’t. He shook his head. “Never been out of the Reach.” 

“Really? But, the Legion…” 

“After my training I was placed in a garrison that was meant to patrol the Reach, keep it safe from the Forsworn.” 

She was nodding again; so she had heard of the Forsworn. 

“I know these mountains inside and out, but it would be nice to see the rest of Skyrim, one day,” he continued. He really was talking an incredible amount. There was something about Valerie that just made him want to talk to her. He felt compelled to keep going after he’d started. Maybe it was the way she looked at him when he spoke, like what he said was the most interesting thing she’d heard, like he was a person with thoughts worth listening to. 

Or maybe it was because she was pretty. 

Last night, they had seemed to come to a silent agreement that they weren’t going to talk about when they had met the day before, when he had nearly knocked her down the stairs in front of the Keep and then repaid her by looking down her dress like an idiot. 

_ Idiot.  _

That was fine with him. 

“Well,” Valerie said. “I do travel a lot, so we’ll definitely be leaving the Reach, don’t worry about that.” 

He smiled. “Sounds great. Let’s go.” 

She laughed. “Not quite yet. I promised the jarl I’d do some things around here first, and I’d like to wait for my things to arrive from Whiterun.” 

Argis swallowed the last piece of his bacon. “This stuff isn’t yours? In the house?” He’d known instantly that she was no warrior, that the swords and the shield, the armorless mannequin hadn’t been hers. But the books, the fine furs in the closet… 

She shook her head. “No, none of this is mine. I should have a cart arriving any day now.” 

Huh. “Well, when it gets here, I’ll help you unpack.” 

“Good.” She grinned. “You can carry the boxes up all these godsdamned stairs.” 

He found, somehow, that he didn’t mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Argis' village has a terrible name, but I put it in ages ago as a placeholder and still can't think of anything better. In my head, it's located between Darkfall Cave and Deepwood Redoubt, in that big empty area that I always think should have something there, but never does.


	5. First Impressions

After breakfast, Valerie said she needed to head to the Keep to speak to Jarl Igmund. Argis buckled on his armor and strapped on his sword and shield, the weight of the steel and leather and wood comforting and familiar. Then he waited at the table by the entranceway.

And waited.

And... waited.

He sat down, finally, in the wooden chair, stretching out his long legs underneath the table. He picked up the copy of _The Third Door_.

Might as well, he thought, and started reading again.

Eventually, Valerie’s door opened and she came out, crossing the room and stepping lightly down the steps. She had changed into a gray dress, and had pulled the top part of her hair back from her face. Her eyes had that dark stuff around the edges again.

“Look alive, Argis,” she called out as she passed him. “First day on the job and all that, let’s get moving.”

“Will I need to take a book with me?” he muttered, under his breath, but she heard him and laughed. He grinned, embarrassed.

On their way to the keep he pointed out some other houses, telling Valerie the little he knew about each of the inhabitants. She waved to Endon and Adara, who were standing below them, on the small bridge that crossed the water.

“You met them already?” Argis asked her.

Valerie nodded. “I helped Kerah out a couple weeks ago. Just a small favor. My parents were silversmiths, too, back in Daggerfall, so we have a bit in common. They’ve had me over a few times for dinner.”

“I didn’t know that,” Argis said, surprised. “About your parents.” Despite what she said about the fine things in her house not being hers, he had still assumed she’d grown up as a noble of sorts, not as the child of merchants.

“Mmm hmm.” Valerie stuck her tongue out and wiggled her fingers at Adara, who shrieked with laughter, loud over the rushing of the waterfalls. “Come on,” she said, turning toward the Keep again. “The jarl gets cranky when I’m late.”

Argis nodded at Endon as they walked away; Adara was a good kid and Kerah was nice enough, he guessed, but her husband Endon had always seemed a little sleazy to him. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, not wanting to insult a friend of his thane.

They passed Thongvor Silver-Blood, loitering in the entryway before the Keep.

“Bulwark,” Thongvor said. The light from the Keep’s lamps glittered on the jewels sewn into his fine clothes. His eyes passed over Valerie, but he made no comment.

“Hello, Thongvor,” Argis said, as they walked by him. He had no fondness for him, either, but it never paid to get on the bad side of the Silver-Blood family.

“Crowded today,” Valerie commented, as they waited for a group of Thalmor to cross in front of them. To their left, two dogs were barking and fighting over their lunch. The Justiciar stared them down, looking down his nose at Valerie, but Argis was just as tall, and he smirked as the elf narrowed his eyes and walked away, his robes swinging.

When they approached the Mournful Throne, Raerek motioned them forward. Valerie stepped up to talk to the jarl, and Argis hung back, placing himself next to Faleen.

“How are you finding your new thane, Argis?” Faleen asked him. Her face was as serious as ever, but Argis could see the glint in her pale eyes. For Faleen, that was as good as a giggle.

“Never told me she was a woman,” Argis said. “Not that that’s a problem,” he amended, as she raised her eyebrows. Faleen was probably one of the few people in this city who could give Argis a run for his money in a fight, and he knew better than to imply anything disparaging about women around her. “But I would have appreciated a heads up. There was some… awkwardness, when she introduced herself.”

“I see,” said Faleen, smugly. “Well… I never said she _wasn’t_ a woman. You just assumed she was a man.”

“You _let_ me assume,” Argis grumbled. He thought back to their earlier conversation yesterday. He’d been so dumbfounded by his promotion that he’d hardly asked any details, simply nodding as he was told about his new role. Neither Faleen, nor the Jarl, come to think of it, had referred to his thane as ‘he’ when telling him about his new job. Not that they’d used ‘she’ either—and not that he would have minded if they had, he told himself—but still...

“Serves you right,” Faleen said, crossing her arms. She nodded her head towards Valerie, still deep in conversation with the jarl. “A little advice, Argis: Don’t make any assumptions about that one.”

“Point taken,” said Argis, thinking about yesterday.

“So?” Faleen prompted. “First impressions?”

Argis tried, very quickly, to sort out his first impressions of Valerie. She wasn’t a warrior, that was obvious immediately, and any hopes he had had about fighting by his thane’s side had fled the second she announced herself. But she traveled, she said, and she wanted him to come with her. The thought of seeing what finally lay behind these mountains made up for any other disappointment.

There was, of course, the nagging feeling of yesterday, on the stairs of the Keep, when he had caught her arm and looked into her eyes—and down her dress—and had found her hair and face and voice and smile incredibly, incredibly beautiful. And he had thought, for a few hopeful hours, that she had wanted him, too.

He thought about how her dark eyes had searched his face, and hadn’t recoiled at his scars. 

Their interactions since then had seemed pleasant, friendly—but if they were going to be working together so closely, he needed to be professional. He didn’t want to make things awkward. He didn’t want to dishonor her, or himself. And he didn’t want to lose this job. She was his thane, now, and she meant more—needed to mean more—to him than a quick fuck.

His relationships with women—up until this point, at least—had tended to be purely physical, filling a need for release for both him and his partners, a mutual agreement, a chance to push away the horrors of battle or, now that he was in Markarth, the monotony of daily life. When he had seen Valerie, when she had smiled at him, he had hoped, for a little bit, at least, that they could have had more than that.

But now… He had no idea if housecarls and thanes could even _be_ together. He hadn’t asked Faleen, of course, assuming that his thane would be a man—and he certainly wasn’t going to ask her now and raise any suspicions. Faleen had kept her personal life private for as long as he’d known her, but in the Legion, rumors tended to spread when you were camped with the same group of soldiers, day in and day out for years. He’d never heard about her fooling around with anyone, man or woman. Did Faleen and the jarl…?

He glanced at Jarl Igmund and shuddered, not wanting to finish that line of thought.

Valerie laughed, then, at something the jarl said, and he smiled, thinking again about how lovely she was.

Faleen shifted next to him, waiting for her answer.

Quit it, he told himself, turning away from Valerie to look back at Faleen. She’s your thane. Honor her, don’t ogle her, you ass.

“Everything seems fine,” he settled on. “She’s nice enough.”

“Hmm,” Faleen said, in an amused tone. “Nice enough?”

There was no point in asking what Faleen was implying; he’d never get an answer out of her.

When Valerie was done with Raerek and Jarl Igmund, he followed her down the steps. “What did the jarl want?” he asked her.

“How do you feel about killing some Forsworn?” she asked in response.

Argis raised his eyebrows, surprised again. Just when he thought he was done with fighting for good… He couldn’t deny that the thought of battle—a real fight, not a practice run with a farm boy who could barely hold up a shield—made him almost jumpy with eagerness. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword as they headed towards the Keep’s doors.

“Let’s go,” he said, and she laughed.

“Not now. Tomorrow,” she told him. She turned around, walking backwards as she talked. “They should be in a camp a few hours from here. Half a dozen agents, plus a briarheart, according to Raerek.”

Argis nodded. He could handle that. The nagging thought of his injury, his lack of experience since then, raised in his mind, but he pushed it down. “Will you be coming with me?” If she was, he'd need to find a safe place for her to wait nearby while he fought.

“I will,” Valerie said. She picked up her skirts as they walked over a rocky area, turning her head to look at him as she turned around. “I’ll accompany you to—” she broke off, whatever she was about to say lost as she stumbled into a person beside her. It was the Thalmor Justiciar.

“Watch where you’re going, half-breed,” he snarled, glaring down at her. “The jarl may have made you thane, but you still need to know your place amongst your betters.” The guards at his side stood at attention, hands on their gleaming weapons.

Argis stepped forward. “Hey!” he grunted, but Valerie put a hand out, resting it on his arm. He stopped, glancing at her; she shook her head, quickly.

The elf smirked. “That’s a good girl,” he crooned. “Call off your dog.” With one final, withering glance at them, he swept away, the guards at his heels.

Argis swallowed, gritting his teeth to keep what he wanted to say from escaping. Valerie was watching them walk away, her face unreadable. She let her hand fall from its place on his arm.

They stood there for a moment, Valerie still silent. In the background, he could hear the clink of Moth’s hammer on his anvil, the chattering of the guards. To their right, further into the keep, the jarl’s wizard was shouting about something, berating his nephew.

The jarl’s dogs were still fighting. He could hear them both growling, snarling at each other—then one of them let out a high-pitched whine, and the other fell silent.

“What are your thoughts on the war, Argis?” Valerie asked him. Her voice was hard to make out over the noise.

“You know I was in the Legion,” Argis told her.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Argis glanced behind them. Still leaning against the wall, Thongvor Silver-Blood watched them warily.

“Not here,” Argis said. He put his hand on his thane’s shoulder, steering her forward. “Let’s go get a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor noble Argis and his respectfulness! :D 
> 
> Comments are very welcome! Let me know what you think!


	6. The Importance of Diplomacy

The Silver-Blood Inn was nearly empty, but they headed toward an isolated table in the back, anyway. Moments after they were seated, Hroki turned up, a mug of ale in her hand, and lingered after setting it on the table in front of him.

“Can I get you anything else, Argis?” she said sweetly.

“Some stew, if there’s any on,” Argis said. “Valerie?”

“That sounds good,” Valerie said. “I’ll have an ale and—”

Hroki beamed at him, then turned on her heel and walked away toward the kitchen, her hips swaying.

“—some stew as well...” Valerie finished, but Hroki was already gone. She raised her eyebrows. “Well. _Someone_ likes you.”

“Sorry about that,” Argis mumbled. Hroki was notoriously friendly to any man at the inn strong enough—and sober enough—to hold a sword, but between the constant presence of her father and brother, no one had—to his knowledge, anyway—taken her up on anything she offered. “She’s just a kid.”

Valerie laughed. “That dress says otherwise.”

He made a face, embarrassed, and pushed his mug, still untouched, over to Valerie to take. Hroki was pretty enough, in a typical Nord way: tall and blonde, with pale eyes and a small, upturned nose. But he and Vorstag used to give her piggy-back rides through the inn when they first came to Markarth, and despite what she wore these days—or didn’t—he still felt like she was a child. “I’ve been in Markarth nearly eight years now,” he told Valerie. “Hroki was still playing with dolls when I started with the guard. I don’t want to be cruel to her, but I’m not really interested. It wouldn’t be right.”

Valerie was looking at him curiously, holding the tankard with both hands, up by her face. She tilted her head, making her necklaces shift. “You’re an unusual man.”

He shrugged.

“I suppose she’s just looking for someone exciting who can take her away from the drudgery of her life. It’s fair enough, I guess.” Her gaze had followed Hroki to where she was standing, pushing an old broom and staring into the fire. Valerie looked back at him. “So how old are you, Argis?”

“Thirty-two,” he said. “I know I look older.”

“Sometimes,” Valerie said. It was an odd thing to say, but she didn’t elaborate. “I’m 29.”

He blinked. “You look a lot younger.”

“I know.” She grinned, her teeth white in the dim light of the inn. “It can come in handy.”

Hroki came back then, depositing a single bowl of stew in front of Argis. “Let me know if you need anything else!” she trilled, before stepping away again.

Valerie laughed, watching as Argis pushed his stew in front of her as well.

“I’ll just go order from Kleppr,” he said, standing up. “You go ahead and start without me.”

When his food and drink arrived for the second time—the stew was lamb, Kleppr said, but he was doubtful—Argis took a quick look around and said, as casually as he could, “Valerie, about what you were saying earlier, about the war...”

Valerie finished chewing, swallowing delicately and then patting her mouth with a cloth. Argis frowned, glancing down at the fork clenched in his fist. He really needed to start watching his table manners.

“I’m guessing the Silver-Bloods are Stormcloak supporters?” she asked. “I haven’t had a lot of interaction with them, but I figured as much.”

He nodded. “Aye. And they run the whole city, essentially, despite the Legion presence, so you should be careful what you say, and who you say it in front of.”

“And if you were to give me your opinion on the war, right now, where—” She gestured around them, their corner of the inn empty and silent. “—where it was just you and me, you would say…”

Argis chewed on the inside of his lip, worrying it with his teeth. “I would say…” he began, carefully, “that I was proud to serve in the Legion, but think that it was wrong for the Empire to ban Talos worship in Skyrim. And that people should be able to worship peacefully, as they please, and stopping them from doing so isn’t the best way to encourage a united Tamriel. Which is what we should be,” he finished. “United.” He took a long drink.

Valerie nodded, watching him thoughtfully. “That’s a good answer. Very diplomatic. For what it’s worth, I agree with you.”

Argis relaxed a little, his shoulders sagging in relief. “If there’s one thing I learned by being constantly surrounded by Imperials, it’s the importance of diplomacy.”

Valerie held her tankard up, and Argis tapped his against it. “Here, here,” she said.

They both drank, and turned back to their food. “So,” he said, “what was the deal back there, with the Justiciar?”

“I was at the Thalmor Embassy for a party a few months back, and there was… an incident,” Valerie said, frowning. She pushed her stew around with her fork. “I kind of had to make a hasty exist, so I’ve been trying to lay low for a while, at least where the Thalmor are concerned. I don’t need them taking any notice of me.”

“Something happened?” Argis repeated. “What?” What could she possibly have done to a group of Thalmor at a party at the Embassy—mispronounced someone’s name? Used the wrong fork with her salad?

Valerie opened her mouth to answer, but then they heard a rough voice shouting across the room.

“Bulwark, is that you? You on a date? Where’s that warrior you’re supposed to be babysitting?”

“Divines preserve me,” Argis muttered, and put his head in his hand as Cosnach walked up to them, stinking of booze and trailed by, thankfully, a sober-looking Vorstag.

“Who’re you?” slurred Cosnach, looking down at Valerie. “You’re too pretty to be a warrior.”

“Um…” said Valerie, looking confused. 

Vorstag was staring at Valerie. He blinked, and then turned to Argis. He held his hand up by his hair, and twirled it, mouthing: _The girl_ —

“Vorstag,” Argis said loudly, “Cosnach, this is Valerie. She’s the new thane in Markarth, and I’m her housecarl.”

Vorstag’s eyes widened comically, and as Cosnach busied himself shaking Valerie’s hand over-enthusiastically, he leant down and whispered in Argis’ ear. “Tough fucking luck, my friend.” He patted his shoulder.

Argis ignored him as best he could. “Cosnach’s a porter with Arnleif and Sons,” he told Valerie. “Vorstag’s a mercenary, and a friend of mine from the Legion.”

“Is that so?” Valerie glanced at Argis, then held her hand out for Vorstag to shake. “Well, a friend of Argis is—”

“Don’t bother,” Cosnach interrupted, poking Vorstag in the shoulder and swaying a little as he did so. “Don’t bother wasting your time with this one, Thane Valerie, he’s of no use to you.” He burped. “He likes to fuck men.”

Vorstag held out his own hand. “I apologize for the crudeness of my drunken friend here, although he does speak truly.”

“Well,” Valerie said, taking his hand without missing a beat. “Then that’s one thing we have in common already, isn’t it? Lovely to meet you, Vorstag, would you like to join us?”

Vorstag laughed and, in a showy display, bent and kissed Valerie’s knuckles, grinning.

Argis rolled his eyes.

“I’d be honored, Thane Valerie,” said Vorstag. “Let me grab a chair.” He shoved Cosnach in the direction of an empty table, then turned, leaning behind Valerie’s shoulder. He mouthed, so that only Argis could see: _Tough fucking luck!_

In front of him, Valerie raised her eyebrow, and gave Argis a crooked smile. “Quite a bunch of friends you have, Argis.”

Fucking tell me about it, Argis thought, and gave them both a tight smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: The Thalmor Embassy incident was much worse than accidentally using the wrong fork. Oh, silly Argis.


	7. Don't Be Afraid

His thane’s cart arrived after dinner. When they headed out the city’s gate, Argis saw that there were actually two carts, stuffed with chests and sacks and a few barrels.

Argis whistled. “This’ll take a while.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and get started?” Valerie said. “I’ll try to find a couple more volunteers.”

On his third trip back down the stairs from Vlindrel Hall he met Valerie at the gates again, trailed by Vorstag and Cosnach. She headed over to the carts while he paused with them by the gate to catch his breath.

“She said she’d buy me dinner if I gave her a hand,” Vorstag said. He grinned at Argis. “Suppose you have to do this for free, housecarl.”

“Me, I’m helping the thane out of the kindness of my heart,” said Cosnach, leering toward the carts. “I’ll see if I can convince her to... repay me later.”

Argis followed the line of his gaze to where Valerie was, bent over and rustling through one of the sacks. His hand shot out and closed around Cosnach’s throat.

“Stare at her ass again and I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” he said, pleasantly, lifting Cosnach up so that his toes trailed on the ground. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at today, Cosnach, but if you think that I’d let a drunk, useless asshole like you get close enough to touch her, you’re stupider than usual, friend.”

Cosnach coughed, gasping for air, and held his hands up in surrender while Vorstag howled with laughter behind him.

Argis let go, sending Cosnach sprawling to the ground.

“Fuck, Bulwark,” he gasped. “Gods, you never were one for a joke, were you?”

Unloading the carts took several hours. There was a group of Khajiit outside the gates, and they seemed to know Valerie. Two of them helped to unload, but since they weren’t allowed inside the city, when the carts were empty, they hung back, watching and talking to themselves out of his hearing. One of them puffed on a long pipe that emitted a cloud of purplish smoke.

After a cursory trip or two with a light box, Valerie stayed up at Vlindrel Hall, trying to organize her things. Whenever Argis dropped off another chest he tried to take a peek at what she was unloading. Two of the house’s three bookshelves were filled immediately, and she spent some time in the alchemy room, stacking the shelves and unwrapping various glass bottles and jars of all sizes. He glimpsed her lugging cloaks and clothes into her bedroom. One time he dropped off a box in the living room to find her in the enchanting room, struggling under the weight of an enormous Dwarven battleaxe. He dashed over to help her place it on the weapon rack.

“This yours?” he asked her, as the axe clicked into place. The craftsmanship was outstanding.

“So I’ve been told,” she replied, rearranging the things on the shelf behind them. He heard a tinkling noise as she dropped something into a basket.

“Ever use it?”

She snorted. “It’s nearly as tall as I am, Argis. What do you think?”

It was close to midnight by the time they were finished. Vorstag and Cosnach headed back to the inn, but Argis grabbed a hunk of cheese and a corner of bread and stood in the living room of Vlindrel Hall, chewing. Valerie knelt on the floor, searching through boxes and looking exasperated.

“Looking for something in particular?” he asked.

“Armor,” she said distractedly. “For you, for tomorrow.”

For him? “Me?” he asked, after swallowing some cheese. “I have armor.”

“I know,” she said, shutting the lid on one crate and opening another. “I have some better stuff that should fit you, though… Let’s see, the dwarven armor’s with Lydia, but I could have sworn I had some steel plate…”

“Lydia?”

“My housecarl in Whiterun,” she said, absently, opening a chest.

She had a housecarl in Whiterun? “Oh,” he replied. Another housecarl? He felt strange, somehow disappointed. The bread was dry in his mouth.

“Hey, do you want that war axe?” she asked, gesturing to the enchanting room. “The dwarven one?”

“That’s a battleaxe,” he said slowly. “I’m more comfortable with a sword and a shield. Thank you, though.”

“You can’t use that with a shield? Ah!” she cried, pulling out a pair of boots. “Wait, no, these are just steel, I always get them mixed up with steel plate.”

Gods, she knew nothing about weapons _or_ armor. “A battleaxe is a two-handed weapon. I’d need both hands to wield it.”

“All right, that’s fine. Apologies, Argis, the steel plate armor should be around here somewhere but… Maybe I did leave it back in Whiterun?”

“Um, my thane, if you don’t mind—”

“Valerie,” Valerie said, still distracted. She put the boots back in the chest. “Don’t even know why I kept these, I should just sell them to Ghorza…”

“Valerie,” he repeated. “If you don’t have any more need of me tonight, I think I’ll turn in.”

“Right! Of course, Argis. Rest for tomorrow. Let’s try to leave right after breakfast.” She looked up at him, smiling, and he attempted to smile back.

“After breakfast,” he repeated again. “Right. Goodnight, my thane.”

She let him go without correcting him.

***

They left the city just after dawn, Argis in his armor, with his sword and shield strapped to his back, Valerie in her long traveling cloak. They both carried small rucksacks, although his was empty. He wasn’t sure what was in Valerie’s.

The Khajiit were still there, camped outside the city gates, but only the eldest one was awake, the one that had been smoking a pipe yesterday. Valerie introduced the two of them briefly—Argis stumbled on the pronunciation of the Khajiit’s name—and said that they’d return later. The Khajiit kissed Valerie on both cheeks, his whiskers twitching, and raised a hand to Argis.

“May your roads lead you to warm sands,” he told them, as they walked away.

“Never met a Khajiit before,” Argis admitted, once they were out of earshot.

“Really?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Seen plenty of them, of course, on the roads, but never had a reason to say anything.”

“Huh,” Valerie said. “I lived in Elsweyr a while back, for about a year.”

Argis raised his eyebrows. “No kidding. What was it like?”

Valerie told him about her time with the Khajiit as they walked. Argis kept his eyes open, watching their surroundings as he listened to her lilting voice telling him about long days in the heat, the mazes of colorful markets, the ancient cities buried under shifting sand. They met nothing dangerous, not even a wolf, but a fox walked next to them for a while, which made Valerie laugh. True to what he had told her the other day, he knew the Reach inside and out, and within a couple of hours, they were close to the Forsworn camp.

“It’ll be right around that bend,” Argis said, pointing.

“Let’s stop here, then,” she said, turning off the road and heading next to a large grouping of rocks. “We can leave our stuff behind this rock before we go the rest of the way.” She dropped her bag, crouching down and digging around in it with one hand while she reached up to her throat with the other, tugging on the cloak’s ties.

“What… What are you doing?” he asked, confused. “Aren’t you going to wait here?” He put his own bag down next to her.

“Why would I wait here?”

“I thought I was going to clear out the Forsworn encampment,” he replied, slowly. Had she forgotten what the jarl had asked?

She pulled a couple of necklaces out of her bag, looking as confused as he felt. “Well, yes, but not alone. I wouldn’t make you go alone.” She tugged again at the cloak’s knot under her throat.

“But you have no weapons, and no armor…” he said. He frowned. Surely she wasn’t coming along to _watch_? “How…”

“I know,” she said. “You mean Faleen didn’t say anything? No one told you? I usually try to keep it quiet when I’m in Nord cities, but…” She stood up. The laces of the cloak finally untied, and she tugged it off, revealing a pair of gray mage robes.

Oh, _fuck_.

“I’m a mage,” she said, gesturing to her robes.

“A mage,” he repeated, gaping at her.

“Yeah. No need for weapons. I make my own armor.”

“You make your own…”

She held her hand up in a fist, then opened it quickly, like she was throwing a ball in the air. Instantly, she was covered in a glimmering sheen.

He took a step back from her.

“It’s a spell called Ironflesh.” She thumped her chest, which made a hollow, metallic sound. “See? Like armor.”

He stared at her, not saying anything, watching the glimmer of her skin and trying to figure out how he hadn’t noticed the signs. The necklaces were back again, he saw now, the ones she had been wearing the day they’d met on the stairs. He thought of her rings, how they glimmered like the spell she had cast on herself.

Of course they did, you idiot, he told himself. They’re _enchanted_.

He thought back to yesterday, what he had seen but not taken in as she unpacked her things. Spellbooks mixed in with the novels on the shelves. Robes amongst the dresses and cloaks he’d seen her lugging into her room. And after he’d helped her hang the battleaxe in the enchanting room, she’d dropped soul gems into a basket on the shelf behind them...

...and she was a fucking _Breton_. Gods, he really was an idiot. He had been so distracted, so swept up in what she looked like, so worried about trying to push away the awkwardness of their first meeting, he had completely missed the fact that she was a _mage_.

“Argis?” she asked. She looked confused again. “You all right?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“You sure? You look…” Her voice was gentle. “Argis, don’t be afraid...”

He straightened up immediately. “I’m not afraid,” he snapped. It came out harsher than he meant it to, and her eyes widened at his tone. “I just don’t trust magic.”

“You don’t trust magic?” she repeated. “Well… you shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.” Her face was hard now, her jaw set, all the gentle emotion from before gone. She looked nearly unrecognizable. “But you need to trust me, and I need to trust you. Is that going to work?”

“Of course, my thane.”

“Good.” She nodded primly. She held out the two necklaces. “These are for you. Red stone is fire resistance. Blue is lightning resistance. Put them both on. They’ll protect you if you get in the way of my destruction spells.”

“Yes, my thane.” Swallowing, he pulled both over his head. He had never touched anything enchanted. He could feel the energy inside them, humming directly over his chest, next to his heart. His hands itched to tear them off, but he closed them around the hilt of his sword instead.

“I’ll mostly be using firebolt spells, with the occasional lightning bolt. I’ll stay in the back and pick off the archers and any stragglers. I’ll need you to keep them busy ahead of me.”

Firebolts. Lightning bolts. He took a breath. He nodded.

“When we get in there, make sure you don’t jump in front of my spells,” she said. She frowned. “And don’t get too proud and take on more than you can handle. I can fight, and my magic is strong. Call for me if you need help.”

He exhaled, nodded again. “Yes, my thane.”

She stared at him, then sighed, slumping a bit. “Valerie, please, Argis.” She rubbed her forehead. “Listen, let’s just… Let’s not be like this, all right?”

He tried to breathe deeply, though he could still feel the humming of the necklaces, over his heart and around his throat. Visions flashed in his mind: a dead-eyed briarheart warrior advancing on him, his whole body cloaked in a lightning storm. A hagraven, cackling and snarling, shooting a hot burst of fire with one hand, her jagged claws swiping at his face with the other.

He stared at tiny Valerie in front of him, her skin glimmering. She had pulled her wild hair back with a strip of leather, but some of the dark curls had escaped, leaving messy tendrils around the sides of her face. The hem of her mage robes dragged a little on the ground.

“All right?” she repeated. The corner of her mouth turned up in a small, hopeful smile.

“All right,” he said. He was impenetrable, a wall. He pushed down his fear. “Gods. Just… Just don’t kill me with your magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise! ;)


	8. A Good Fight

She didn’t kill him with her magic. She didn’t even come close.

They were spotted as they neared the entrance of the camp. Argis screamed out a war cry and charged in, his blood racing. He hadn’t lost his touch, it turned out, and his worries about fighting melted away as he took one Forsworn down, then another. He banged his shield, roaring, daring more to come forward. One dove past him, taking advantage of his blind spot on his his left, and he cursed, turning in time to see Valerie. She was frowning, her face clenched with concentration, and she brought her hands together and shot out a ball of fire, knocking the Forsworn to the ground and killing her before she could get near.

“Wow,” he muttered.

She heard him and glanced over, but her eyes widened and she yelled. “On your right!”

Something cut his arm and he winced, turning to bash a Forsworn’s head in with a shield and catching sight of an archer in the distance. “Archer on the left!” he called, and grinned as he saw the Forsworn keel over from a firebolt to the stomach, his bow clattering uselessly to the ground.

He took a breath of the brisk, cold air, loving the feel of his heart pounding, the blood rushing through his body. His instincts were sharp, honed like an arrowhead.

Gods, he loved a good fight.

They advanced through the camp slowly, Argis in front. Valerie fought haphazardly, flinging fire and lightning at the Forsworn as they poured out of their tents. Her aim wasn’t perfect—twice, she managed to set their tents on fire and she accidentally electrocuted a chicken—but her spells stayed well away from him. Her ironflesh spell held, and although he had screamed out her name, his heart dropping, when he saw an archer letting an arrow loose in her direction, it bounced off her shoulder without harming her. Then she sent a lightning bolt into the archer’s face.

There was a briarheart, hiding in his tent at the far end of the encampment. He emerged as they got close, a bolt of lightning spraying from his hand. Argis was in front, and took the brunt of it, but Valerie’s necklace worked, and all he felt was a sharp tingling behind his jaw. Valerie brought her hands together, sending a firebolt searing through the air as the briarheart lurched towards them. Two more of Valerie’s firebolts and he staggered, then fell to his knees, and Argis leapt closer and took his head off with his sword. It fell to the ground, blood spraying, and rolled to a stop a few feet away. The body pitched forward into the dirt.

They both stood there, breathing heavily.

“All right?” Valerie asked.

He had a cut on his right arm from when the Forsworn sliced him with a war axe, but it wasn’t deep and didn’t feel poisoned. He could bandage it when they got back to Markarth.

“Fine,” he said. “You ok?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a second.” She made her way over to a chair in the briarheart’s tent and sat down, her hand at her throat, taking a few deep breaths. Argis wiped his sword clean on the grass.

“Hey, there’s a chest over there,” Valerie called. “Come help me open it?”

The chest held a large coin purse, some jewels, a couple of goblets, iron boots and a Dwarven sword. “You can keep it,” she told him, gesturing at the sword. “I don’t need it, so if we find any armor or weapons you want to keep, they’re all yours. Anything else we don’t want, I’ll sell and we can split the returns. That work?”

“That’s… that’s… wow,” Argis stuttered. “Yeah, that works. That’s great.”

She grinned at him, then frowned. “Oh! Your arm,” she said, reaching a hand out to him. Her palm started glowing with a pale light. “Let me…”

“No!” he said, a little too abruptly. He pulled his shoulder back, away from her. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t want…”

The glow died out, and Valerie’s hand dropped back to her side. “All right,” she said, softly.

They headed out of the encampment, Valerie lifting her robes up to step daintily over the headless corpse of the dead briarheart, and then made their way around the bend towards where their things were stored behind the rock. The air smelled like smoke from Valerie’s spells. Oddly enough, he was reminded of being on patrol with Vorstag, the fire they kept stoked at night to keep the animals away.

“You fight well, Argis,” Valerie said, as she filled up her bag with the coinpurse, boots and goblets. She hefted it onto her back.

“Thanks,” he replied. He gestured to her rucksack. “Do you need me to carry that for you?”

She shook her head. There was a little bit of blood, spattered on the side of her face. “I can handle it myself.”

They turned back onto the road and made their way west. Valerie mentioned something about selling what they found to the Khajiit caravan, and Argis nodded.

He and his thane walked the rest of the way in silence. Argis trailed behind her a foot or two, swinging the Dwarven sword, feeling like he had disappointed her somehow, and not knowing how to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super confident when it comes to writing fight scenes, so I hope this wasn't too terrible. Also, sorry it's so short - the next chapters start to get longer.


	9. Familiar

So.

His thane was a mage.

He was a housecarl to a mage. A mage’s housecarl.

Valerie was a mage.

No matter how many times he rearranged the thoughts in his head, he couldn’t get them to make sense. No matter how many times he replayed the clues he had missed, or the way she had fought at the Forsworn camp… He couldn’t seem to come to terms with it.

He had been silent all afternoon, feeling odd and awkward around her. He wanted to apologize for the way he had snapped at her. He wanted to tell her that she fought well, too, that she had impressed him but terrified him at the same time.

He knew that Nords mistrusted magic. There was nothing that scared him more. But he hadn’t been lying when he said that he had trusted _her_. He knew he _needed_ to trust her, but he wanted to, too.

And he wasn’t a typical Nord, a typical warrior. He was smarter than he looked. He was well-read. He wasn’t naturally friendly or social, but he tried to be kind. He may not have been well-traveled, but he knew he was a lot more open-minded than others.

So why couldn’t he get past this?

You know why, he told himself, and then there it was, one of the many memories that he always tried to repress: the briarheart, cloaked in lightning; his father’s face, screaming as he—

“Do you want to be reassigned? I could talk to the jarl.”

They had been eating dinner in silence. When he looked up at Valerie, she was cutting her venison and wouldn’t meet his eye.

 _Fuck._ “Have I… Have I upset you, my thane?” He thought of how he had snapped at her after she’d told him she was a mage, her narrowed eyes as she’d handed over the enchanted necklaces. He swallowed. “About before… I...”

She shrugged, still staring down at her plate. “It’s fine.”

“I was out of line,” he continued. Now that she had voiced it, he knew that he feared the thought of no longer being her housecarl more than the fact that she was a mage. “You were right. When you told me you were a mage… and that spell… I was afraid.” He realized that he was gripping his fork too tightly, pressing an indent into his palm. He let go, and put it back on the plate. “You were right,” he repeated. “I… apologize.”

Valerie looked up at him, studying his face. He felt like flinching from her gaze, but he held still, letting her scrutinize him. Finally, she gave a little nod, and he let out a breath. Whatever she had been testing him for, he had passed.

“Accepted,” she told him. “I apologize, too. I shouldn’t have sprung the mage thing on you. It’s a big deal in Skyrim, I should know that by now.” She speared a piece of venison with her fork, smiling again. “Bloody Nords.”

He gave a low laugh, relieved at her change in mood. “We can be pretty stubborn,” he agreed. He was pretty sure he would have agreed to anything, as long as things could go back to before he had disappointed her. “It’s fine. I’m just not used to magic, and…” His mind flashed, for a second, to that first briarheart, and his father’s face, and _after_ — “...I’ve seen some things that… Well...”

He didn’t really want to talk about it.

She looked contemplative. “I forget, sometimes, how different it is here. Growing up in Daggerfall, magic was all over the place. I’d trip over more familiars than I could count, just walking down the high street in the morning.”

“Familiars?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm,” she said. “A low-level conjuration. Even Breton children can summon one.”

“Huh,” he said. “So you can… summon a familiar?” The phrase felt foreign on his tongue.

“Of course,” she said. She looked at him oddly again, like she was sizing him up.

“Argis,” she continued, after a moment. “There are a lot of things that… I should…” She rubbed her hand on her forehead, frustrated. “Sorry, this is coming out wrong. Basically… Those fire and lightning spells you saw?”

He nodded.

“They’re not really my specialty. I need to get better at them, so I’ve been trying to build up my strength, to defend myself when…” She sighed and gave her head a quick shake. “Anyway, I’m mainly a conjurer.”

“A conjurer…” He repeated slowly.

“Yes,” she said. “Well, a summoner, technically.”

“I don’t know what that…” A thought seized him, and his heart starting to pound, he blurted out: “Necromancy? You raise the dead?” Oh gods above... No, he thought. Not that, _please_ …

“No,” she said firmly. “No necromancy. Not ever. I don’t raise bodies.” She leaned forward a little, making the amulets swing around her neck. “I promise, Argis. The dead stay dead.”

He blinked in the face of her intense gaze, letting out a breath. _The dead stay dead._ “That’s… that’s good. So… What exactly do you… summon?”

She settled back in her seat. “How about I show you, after I finish eating?”

He glanced down at his plate, still half full with venison and snowberries. “Works for me,” he said, and reached for his fork again.

***

Her familiar was a wolf, a pale and luminous shadow which panted and laid at her feet once he realized, Valerie explained, that there were no enemies. Her summons wouldn’t hurt anyone, she told him, unless that person tried to hurt her. They were tied to her, and would defend her until they were sent back to Oblivion.

His head swam, trying to understand how it worked, nodding as she explained how she pulled them from Oblivion and bound them to her, and how they’d continue to serve her whenever she called on them.

The familiar disappeared suddenly with a yelp, making him jump in his chair. Valerie paused in her explanations.

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Uh,” said Argis. “I…”

Valerie laughed. “Gods, I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that only mages want to talk about this stuff. Here—let me introduce you to Atty.”

She brought her hands together, and then there was a swirling purple void in their living room that faded away to creature of fire and flame.

He jumped out of his seat, the chair clattering to the ground as he took a step back. His hand immediately went to his sword, but he had put it away when they came back to Vlindrel Hall, and there was nothing to grip.

“Easy there, big guy,” Valerie said. Her hand was stretched out, like she was trying to placate a wild horse. “It’s all right.”

In the middle of the living room, the fire creature spun in a lazy circle.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should have warned you. Fire atronach. I call her Atty.”

“Atty,” he repeated. The atronach tilted its head, staring at him with empty eyes full of flame. He realized, raising his eyebrows, that she looked remarkably like a naked woman. With horns.

“She won’t hurt you, remember?”

“Yeah,” he said. He took a breath, then bent down to right the chair. He sat down. “Why is she naked?”

To his relief, Valerie burst out laughing. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered that. I have _no_ idea. Weird, right?”

Atty vanished with a hiss, like a breath of hot air, leaving a scattering of fire salts on the ground. Then came Frosty, what Valerie called her frost atronach. Forsworn briarhearts could conjure these, and he had seen, and fought, them before. It was like a little mountain of ice, but in their living room, with no one to smash, it just looked big and dumb. It lurked there, shifting occasionally on its feet, then eventually crackled and disappeared.

Valerie was trying to work out how to summon a storm atronach, she explained, but it was the hardest one yet. She demonstrated, calling up another creature from Oblivion that, for an instant, resembled a human shape, made out of rocks and lighting, but almost immediately fell to pieces and disintegrated.

Valerie made a frustrated noise. “I’ve been working for _months_ on that one. I’m so close, I know it.”

Listening to her talk, watching her mastery of the atronachs, he felt an odd emotion. He was still a little afraid, no matter what he told her, and he knew that it would take time to be totally comfortable, to unlearn years of fear and unease.

But now, in the quiet of Vlindrel Hall, with the fire blazing behind them and Valerie beside him, still unfamiliar but yet somehow comforting at the same time, he felt… proud.

His thane, a mage—a _summoner_.

He’d work on it. They’d figure it out.

“You’ll get it,” he told her. “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she said. She looked pleased. “I guess I am.”

***

After they’d cleaned up their dinner, Valerie went to take a bath. Argis sat down by the fire with a tankard of mead and _A Dream of Sovngarde_. He read and drank in silence for a while, until he heard Valerie walking into the room.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Course not.”

She sat down in a chair a few feet away from him, curling her legs underneath her and opening up her own book. Her hair was wet, and gathered on the side, leaving a damp mark on the shoulder of her tunic.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He held it up so she could see the cover.

She nodded. “I’ve read that one.”

He tried to go back to his book, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Valerie staring into the fire, her own book forgotten. He read the same paragraph over and over.

He wanted to know what she was thinking.

He wanted her to smile at him again, in that funny way she had, where the corner of her mouth turned up, like they had their own private joke.

He wanted to fight with her again, to watch her with her face set and serious, her skin glimmering as she warded herself against her enemies, fire pouring from her hands.

He wanted to push her damp hair off her shoulder, to lick the droplets of water that were sliding down her neck, to feel her sigh beneath him as he—

“Argis?”

He startled, nearly spilling his mead.

She looked at him, her face determined. “If you won’t let me use restoration magic on you, I want you to carry some healing potions. At all times.”

He nodded, relieved she hadn’t guessed where his thoughts were leading. “All right.”

“All right?” she repeated. “That’s… that’s ok? You won’t fight me on it?”

He held up his hands. “Not a problem.” He had nothing against potions. Any warrior who did was as good as dead.

“Good,” she said. She gave him a little smile. “There are a few other things that I need to talk to you about.”

“Shoot,” he told her.

“We’ll need to get you better armor,” she told him, her eyes lingering on the cut on his arm. “I can speak to Ghorza or Moth tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.” He’d had his steel armor for ages, but he wasn’t particularly attached to it. Things were just… things.

“And how are you with a bow? I noticed you don’t carry one, but you’ll need to.”

“Not as good as I am with a sword,” Argis admitted. “But I can hold my own, you won’t have to worry about me. Or you,” he added.

“Good,” Valerie said. “We’ll get you a good one too, I think I saw a dwarven one in Lisbet’s shop. I want you to have one before we leave Markarth again.”

“Ghorza usually has a good selection of arrows,” Argis told her. “She makes batches of them for the guards a few times a month.”

“Perfect,” said Valerie. She nodded, satisfied, but then furrowed her brow, like she was about to say something he wouldn’t like to hear. “And Argis, when we’re traveling somewhere, there are sometimes things that I need to do, places that I need to go to, by myself. I might have to ask you to wait somewhere for me, or head back to Vlindrel Hall.”

“All right…” he said, slowly.

“And, at any time,” she continued, “If you want out, just say so.”

He blinked. “If I want… What do you mean?”

“If something happens and… you don’t want to be my housecarl anymore,” she told him. “If you don’t want to travel with me, or fight—”

“That’s… that’s not how this works, my thane.” He felt baffled, blown away by what she’d suggested, and, to be honest, a little insulted. “I’d never leave you—”

“I know that’s what you believe now, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted. “I’m your sword and your shield, Valerie. I’ll protect you with my life. I swore it to the jarl, and I’ll swear it to you.” He brought his book down on the table with a bang, then turned and reached for her, clasping her small hands in his.

She made a surprised noise, her book tumbling off her lap and onto the floor. It might have been a trick of the firelight, but her eyes looked brighter, her cheeks pinker than just a second ago.

“I won’t leave you,” he told her, as earnestly as he could. “I’ll be by your side as long as you need me. Count on it.”

The moments passed agonizingly slowly as her eyes searched his face. Finally, she nodded, pulling her hands back gently.

He let go, embarrassed by his outburst. His face felt hot. Before sitting back in his seat, he reached down, picking her book up off the floor. It had landed open when it fell. The pages fluttered as he picked it up; they were covered in writing, tiny neat scrawl.

It wasn’t a book, he realized.

“This is a journal,” he said out loud.

“Yes,” said Valerie, quietly. “It’s my journal.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Of everything I’ve done, and everything I have left to do.” Her hair had fallen into her eyes, and she pushed it back from her face, still quiet and subdued. She took the journal from him.

“What do you mean? Is it… mage stuff?” he asked. “What you’re doing? What you’re writing about in the journal?” He realized that she didn’t know what she actually _did_ , how she made her money. He had assumed her family had been wealthy, but a child of silversmiths wouldn’t have the coin to buy Vlindrel Hall, or the armor and weapons she was planning on purchasing for him. Had she been traveling around Skyrim, all over Tamriel, killing bandits and bringing in bounties by herself?

Oh, right, he remembered. There was the other housecarl, from Whiterun. Lydia. He frowned.

“Kind of,” she told him. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you eventually, but… It’s late. Not tonight.”

“Is that why you think I won’t want to travel with you anymore?”

She shrugged, staring down at her journal and flipping through the pages.

He tried again. “Have other people you’ve traveled with… Have they left you?” Where was her housecarl from Whiterun now? Why hadn’t she traveled with Valerie to the Reach? He knew he was pushing it, that it wasn’t his place and he barely knew her, besides, but sound of her sad, quiet voice left him desperate to know why, to try to fix it. A thought came to him, suddenly, and he voiced it without thinking: “Is that why you conjure atronachs?”

She let out a short laugh. “I never thought about it that way, but, yeah. I guess you’re right.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes shining. “I don’t want to be alone.”

You’re not alone, he thought. You have me now, and I won’t leave you. But one outburst of emotion was plenty for him for one night, and he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Does anyone?” he said, instead.

She shrugged again, then sighed. “It’s late. I should really go to bed. Goodnight, Argis,” she said. She stood up, then, and took her journal with her, crossing the room until she came to her bedroom door. She shut it with a click, without looking at him.

“Goodnight,” he said, to her closed door.

He stared at the fire for a long time, alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argis has all the feels and doesn't know how to handle them. Emotions are hard.


	10. In the Light of the Fire

Valerie was back to herself the next morning, smiling and chatty as they climbed Markarth’s countless staircases on their errands. Between Ghorza and Moth, they found a full set of steel plate armor that fit him, as well as a new steel shield. They didn’t have any swords better than the dwarven one he had taken from the Forsworn camp the other day, and he passed on the helmet.

“Why no helmet?” asked Valerie, frowning.

He motioned to his eye, wondering if she’d forgotten. “Too enclosed. Messes up my vision.”

“Ah,” she said. “Guess I’ll just be stuck looking at your face, then.” She grinned at him.

Argis snorted. “Too bad for you.”

“Hmm,” interrupted Ghorza. She stared at Argis until he started to feel vaguely uncomfortable, her eyebrows crunching together as she examined him. Then she nodded. “Yes. A pity your teeth are so small and blunt, Bulwark, otherwise it would be a very nice face.” She then offered him several handfuls of arrows, which he shoveled quickly into his new quiver as Valerie inspected her coin purse, her mouth twitching with suppressed laughter.

They headed up the steps to Bothela’s, where Valerie traded some vials and jars for health and magicka potions, which she handed to Argis to carry. He stacked them carefully in his rucksack, listening while Valerie and Bothela chatted about the properties of some sort of ingredient—giant’s toe? He shuddered.

At Arnleif and Sons, Valerie asked after the dwarven bow, which Lisbet unlocked for them from a case. He inspected it as Lisbet complained to Valerie about their low sales, the trouble her suppliers were running into on the road. She blamed her misfortune on her missing statue of Dibella—personally, Argis thought the shop could benefit from a deep clean—and Valerie surprised him entirely when she offered to retrieve it.

“We’ll find it for you,” she said. She pulled out her journal from her bag, opening it up to the front cover, where a map was sketched. Argis peered closer—it was a map of western Skyrim—and Lisbet marked a small X over a cave in the north of the Reach.

“We will?” he asked. “My thane, that’s Bruca’s Leap Redoubt, it’s probably crawling with Forsworn.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Valerie said, and Lisbet beamed at her.

“We’ll take the bow,” Argis added, slinging it up onto the counter.

Two days later, he was wrenching open a chest that contained, as promised, a slightly dusty but whole statue of Dibella. Valerie cleaned it off with the edge of her robe, then tucked it into her open rucksack.

Argis inspected the rest of the chest’s contents. “Coinpurse?” he called.

“Yep,” said Valerie.

“Couple of iron daggers?”

“Eh.”

“Some gems… Uh, one’s purple and two are a kind of reddish.”

“Amethyst and garnets, probably,” she said. “You can put them with the coins.”

He nodded, dropping them into the bag. “And…” His skin prickled uncomfortably. “Two books.”

“Ooh,” she said, coming closer. “Anything good?”

He handed them to her. “Spellbooks, I think.”

She glanced at one, then dropped it into her bag. “I don’t need that one, but I bet Calcelmo will buy it. This one, though,” she said, turning the second book over in her hands. “This one is new.”

The book had an outline of a tree on the cover, and Argis was reminded of the book Valerie had dropped on the stairs that first day they had met.

“What is it?” he asked, watching her flip through the pages.

“Not sure,” she murmured. “Something about… Moving objects? I’ll need to read it more thoroughly.” She slipped it into her bag, then handed him another book. “I’ll trade. _A Tragedy in Black_ ,” she said. “Want it? I found it with the alchemy ingredients on the shelf.”

Valerie had killed the briarheart herself, when he’d been occupied fighting the Forsworn at the center of the cave. She’d shot fire at him with her right hand, and when he got too close, did something with her left that made flames swirl around her. The briarheart had lunged at her, then dropped with a scream, and Argis pulled his sword from the woman he’d been fighting and dashed up the stairs to Valerie. She’d held her hand out, warning him not to come closer, and they’d both waited in silence until the flames died.

“Flame cloak,” she had offered.

“Aye,” Argis had said. “I’ve seen it before, but with lightning.” He didn’t mention that when he’d seen the spell, it had been used by a briarheart about to kill him, but Valerie had nodded, frowning, and he figured she understood.

Now, he took the book from her and they moved back toward the mouth of the cave, Lisbet’s Dibella statue tucked away safely in Valerie’s rucksack. The sun had already set, and wolves howled in the distance.

“Shit,” Valerie said. “I didn’t time this well, we left too late. I hate traveling at night.”

“We can make it to Karthwasten,” he said. “It’s not that far south of here.”

The wolves howled again, and Valerie frowned.

“Or we could stay here,” he said. “Their fire’s still going. We’ll just put our bedrolls in their tents. Should be safe enough.”

Valerie nodded. “Do you mind?”

“Course not,” he said. “I’ll just move the…” He gestured to the two bodies by the fire. “I’ll move them.”

When he came back from dragging the bodies down into the cave, Valerie had set their bedrolls up in the large tent and was sitting by the fire, plucking a chicken.

“The other tents smelled like piss,” she said, nodding to their bedrolls. “And I…”

“You killed a chicken again?” He had seen one of her lightning spells go rogue earlier, hitting the ground right after a Forsworn had rolled out of the way.

“I killed a chicken again,” she repeated.

He laughed, and she frowned at him.

“It’s not funny,” she protested. “The chicken didn’t do anything to us. Poor chicken,” she said, holding it up by its feet. “Now you’re plucked.”

“At least it’s already cooked,” Argis said. He pulled a dagger from his pack. “I’ll carve.”

They ate the chicken with their hands, something that Valerie still managed to do daintily. She had taken a smaller portion and finished first, then leaned back on her elbows to look up at the stars. He threw the bones in the fire.

“I killed a dog once, with a spell,” she said, still staring up at the sky. “About a month after I first came to Whiterun. Not on purpose. I was with Lydia, and we were clearing bandits out of a cave for the Jarl of Whiterun. They had a dog, and I hit it by accident—I’d just learned the firebolt spell, and my aim was even worse than it is now, and he just… jumped right in front of me. We killed half a dozen bandits that day, but I cried all night about their stupid dog. Lydia thought I was insane.”

Argis leaned back, mimicking her pose and tilting his head up to the sky. He wondered what she saw in the stars. “I was a soldier for years, and I’d be upset if I killed a dog, too,” he admitted.

“The first time I killed a person, I threw up. It was either me or him, but it was… It was the worst thing I’d ever done.” She paused. “It’s scary how easy it gets, so quickly.”

“Yeah,” Argis agreed. “Yeah, it is.”

She sighed, then sat up. “I should practice the storm atronach. Do you mind? I won’t conjure it fully, I just really need to get the foundation down.”

He shook his head, watching as she situated herself, cross-legged, on the other side of the fire. She raised her right hand, letting off a purple glow that was answered by a shimmering purple void a few feet away. She held her hand up until the void closed, then shook it out, and held it up again.

Magic was a skill, he saw, as she practiced. She had to work on it, to hone it, like he did when he trained with his sword. He watched her face as she cast the spell, seeing her slight frown of concentration. He realized, surprised, that he didn’t feel afraid.

She repeated the motion several times, the purple void opening and closing, then said, casually, “So, you and Vorstag…”

He frowned, worried she’d gotten the wrong idea. “We’re just friends. We never… I’m not his type, according to him. And uh… I like women,” he added. “Only women.” _Idiot._

He could see her grin, her mouth turning up in the dark. “I was going to ask how long you’ve known each other.”

“Oh. Oh, right.” _Idiot, idiot, idiot…_ “Since I was 16. I met him the first day I joined the Legion. He was a little older, but he’d just started, too.”

“You joined the Legion at 16?”

He nodded, then remembered she probably couldn’t see him in the dark. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Argis swallowed, then took a breath. “My village was attacked by Forsworn, and my father was one of the people who were killed. Some troops from the Legion turned up the next day, to help clean up. My father’d been the village smith, but I didn’t get any of his talent. Can barely forge a dagger. I have a twin sister, and my mother, and I had to take care of them somehow... so when the soldiers left to go back to the main camp near Markarth, I went with them and joined up. Sent nearly all my earnings back home every month. My sister’s married now, with a kid, and my mother lives with them. My brother-in-law took over the forge, but I still send them what’s extra, from my pay. I don’t need much.”

Above him, the stars burned bright and cold.

“Argis,” Valerie said. He loved the sound of her voice when she said his name. He turned his head to look at her. The light from the fire glanced off her dark hair, her lovely face, the pale, delicate skin of her neck. “I’m sorry, about your father.”

She was so beautiful.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “It was years ago.”

The fire crackled, the smoke drifting lazily toward the sky.

“My father’s dead, too,” she offered. “And my mother.”

Gods. _The dead stay dead._ “I’m sorry, Valerie. How did they…”

She stared into the fire. “Robbery gone wrong. We lived above the shop, and they heard the thieves break in and tried to stop them. I was in Winterhold, then, at the college. By the time the courier got to me, and I got back to Daggerfall, it’d been nearly a month. My sister had sold the store, sold our house, buried my parents, and married herself off to some minor noble. Everything that I knew, all of my things, my parents’ things—it was all gone. We had a big fight, screaming at each other in the street right outside her little manor house, and then I just… left. There was nothing for me in Daggerfall. I didn’t want to go back to the college. So I went to the docks, got on a boat, and I was in Hammerfell two days later.” She glanced up at him. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were wet and sparkling. “That was eight years ago. I haven’t been back to High Rock since.”

“Do you want to?” he asked her. “Go back?”

“Yes. But it’s too late, now.”

He wondered why.

“Do you believe in Sovngarde, Argis?”

“Course I do,” he said. It hurt to think of his father. There had been nothing but ashes to bury. Would Tsun deny his father entrance to Shor’s Hall, because of what that briarheart had done? Where did his soul rest, now? “Where do Bretons go, the ones who die bravely?”

“I don’t know,” Valerie said. “We don’t really talk about it. I guess we just… die.”

That hurt to think about, too.

In the light of the fire, he watched as she wiped her eyes, sniffed, and gave him a little smile. “It’s late,” she said. “We should sleep.”

Argis climbed into his bedroll in the large tent, still wearing his armor, even his boots. He heard Valerie rustling in her pack, and watched out of the corner of his eye as she pulled out a bottle, rubbed some of its contents onto her face, then her hands, then her feet. It smelled like mountain flower. Her ankles and calves flashed white in the darkness as she pulled her socks and boots back on.

He rolled over, facing the wall of the tent. Something in his chest ached.

“Argis?” she asked, after a few minutes of silence. 

“Yeah?”

“What’s Vorstag’s type?”

He laughed, relieved at the change in subject. “Dark-haired, usually. Imperials or Bretons.” He paused, trying to remember. “I think he likes beards.”

“Does he mind mages?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Think he’d object to meeting a friend of mine?”

He laughed again. “He’d probably tell you otherwise, but he needs all the help he can get.”

“Oh, good,” said Valerie. He could tell that she was smiling, just by the sound of her voice. “When we get back to Markarth, remind me to write to my friend Marcurio.”

“Will do.”

“Goodnight, Argis.”

He smiled, rolling over to lie on his back. “Goodnight, Valerie.”

The dragon attacked them the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter :) Dragon coming up next, along with the last piece of the puzzle for Argis...


	11. Dragonborn

Argis woke just after dawn. The air was cool and silent, and he breathed quietly for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of his bedroll. A few feet away from him, Valerie still slept, her back to him and her dark hair fanned out. She was curled tight, crunched into a little ball. He wondered if she was cold.

He reached over and adjusted the top of her bedroll to cover her up to her shoulders. She murmured something, then breathed deeply, still asleep.

As silently as he could, he crawled out of his bedroll and their tent. The rising sun was bright, this morning. It would be a nice day.

He headed over to the space behind the tents to relieve himself. This encampment was on a little hill, and he could see a decent amount of the Reach where it spread out around them. Karthwasten was just down the river.

It was oddly quiet. A cloud passed over the sun for a moment, darkening his view.

He tucked himself back into his pants after he finished, turning to head back to their bedrolls. Maybe he’d be able to go back to sleep. Even if he didn’t, he’d let Valerie sleep a little bit longer. They hadn’t brought much food with them, but there were some apples they could have for breakfast, and a wedge of cheese.

His stomach growled. Maybe Valerie wouldn’t object to stopping at the inn in Karthwasten for something hot. Bacon, and tomatoes. Or mushrooms—

A cloud passed over the sun again, and Argis looked up.

His first thought when he saw the dragon was that he was really glad he had just relieved himself, because otherwise, he would have pissed his pants.

His second thought was: _Valerie_.

He dashed over to the tent and, in seconds, had grabbed his sword and shield with his left hand and flipped Valerie’s bedroll open with his right. “Get up,” he said. “Valerie, wake up, there’s a dragon, a fucking dragon—” He tugged on her ankle, pulling her out from the covers.

“A what? What?” Her voice was panicked, still bleary from sleep.

“There’s a dragon flying right over us, I don’t think it saw me but—”

There was a roar, then, that sounded like thunder, and a blast of fire took out the tents to their left.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Valerie said, scrambling to her feet. “It did. Oh, shit shit shit shit—”

He put his arm around Valerie’s waist with his free hand and hoisted her over his shoulder, and with a speed and agility he hadn’t had since he was a teenager, made for the mouth of the cave at the edge of the encampment.

She screamed, struggling against him. “Argis, put me down!”

“And let you get eaten by a fucking dragon?” he yelled back.

“I’m your fucking thane,” she howled. “Put me down, Argis, I swear!”

He gripped her tighter, his shield and sword clanking against his leg, and launched himself over a collection of dead branches. The cave was right in front of him. He could see the crumbling wooden door, the huge mammoth skull perched on top of it, getting closer as he ran. He could get them inside, where the dragon couldn’t reach them, they’d be safe, they could wait it out—

“Argis, you don’t understand!” She kicked at him, pummeled his back. “You have to let me down, I have to kill it!”

“Not a fucking chance!” He had reached the cave’s entrance, pushed open the door and, once they were a foot or two inside, set her down on her feet. He could hear the dragon’s wings flapping into the winds. Its roar sounded like a challenge.

She pushed at him, struggling to get past. Her pupils were blown wide, her face contorted in panic. She clawed at his chest. “I need to— Argis, please, there’s a village right down the road, I need to kill it before it hurts someone—”

“Like you?” he gasped at her. “Valerie, are you crazy? That’s a fucking dragon out there! The only way you’re getting out of this cave is by stepping over my dead body!”

She stopped fighting him. Her hands calmed, gentle on his chest. She looked up at him. “You would die for me?”

“I… You know I would.”

“Because you’re my housecarl?” Her hands were still on his chest, and she was shifting on her feet, moving them like they were dancing.

“I…” Gods, what was wrong with him? There was a dragon outside about to roast them alive, and all he could think about was how dark her eyes were, how good her small hands felt on him, how much he wanted to thread his hands in her hair, bend down and kiss her—

“You don’t have to answer,” she said. He realized, confused, that she had managed to turn them around, that she was now on the outside, that he was now facing the cave’s entrance, his back to the tunnel behind them.

Her hand reached up and stroked the side of his face gently, running over his cheek, his scars, the line of his beard. “Argis?”

“Valerie?” He closed his eyes, pushing his cheek into the soft skin of her palm.

“I’m so, so sorry about this,” she whispered. “When you wake up, please don’t be mad.”

He opened his eyes. “What?”

“Fus,” she breathed.

He was blown backward, tumbling head over feet as he sailed through the air of the tunnel. He slammed against the wall, his bones jolting, and everything went dark.

He came to in increments, like he had been pushed underwater and was bobbing to the surface, gasping for air. He couldn’t see, and he panicked, thinking he’d been blinded fully, before he realized that the right side of his face was pushed against something. He breathed, inhaling the smell of sour body odor and rot. His stomach heaved, and he pushed himself away from the dead body of the Forsworn. He must have landed on it when Valerie…

What the fuck had Valerie _done_ to him?

His sword and shield were scattered nearby. He tried to stand, but couldn’t—his legs shook under his own weight. He took a quick inventory of his injuries: nothing broken. He was probably just in shock.

His head was fucking killing him.

He grabbed his weapons and crawled, slowly, to the mouth of the cave.

By the time he reached it he could pull himself to his feet, and he did, his hands scrabbling on the rock wall. He pushed the door open. A few feet away from the entrance, the ground was scorched in a circle, scattered with a crystalline red substance.

Fire salts. The remains of Valerie’s flame atronach.

His stomach dropped. Where _was_ she?

A gust of wind hit his face, nearly knocking him over, and he looked up and saw it—the dragon, its great wings unfurled, so huge and black against the clear blue of the morning, it looked like a hole had been torn from the sky. Its wings beating, it hovered in the air right above a tiny dark-haired figure in mage robes. In the back of his mind he registered a daedra, a storm atronach, crackling with lightning, shooting the dragon in its side. The dragon’s wings beat again, sending another wave of wind against him, and it opened its mouth and spouted flame.

The fire engulfed Valerie entirely.

Gods, no, he thought. His mind was screaming, his heart pounding. He lurched from the cave, headed towards her blindly. Not like this, he prayed. Not like this, not like this…

But the flames died and Valerie was still there, unburnt. He watched in disbelief as she tilted her head back, her eyes white and her hair arcing with electricity. Blue light swirled around her, lightning gathering in her palms. She was terrible and beautiful, the most frightening and wonderful thing he’d ever seen. Woman, witch, warrior, goddess—

Her mouth opened and thunder came out, and she breathed a column of fire.

Argis fell to his knees, shocked by a sudden, desperate understanding.

_Dragonborn._

He watched, paralyzed, as the dragon howled, crashing to the ground and skidding in the dirt just feet away from him. Valerie and the storm atronach hit it with more lightning. The dragon’s great head thrashed, and it died with a scream, its golden eyes dead and blank.

The body started to burn.

Valerie stood next to the dead dragon, swaying. Blood dripped from her hairline, into her eyes, and she wiped it away with her palm. He tried to go to her, crawling on his hands and knees again, stumbling in the dirt, but she held her hand, red with blood, out to him.

“Stay,” she told him. The ground shook with her voice, and he obeyed her. The dragon’s body crackled, burning up in the fire, turning to ash and bones.

She turned to the storm atronach, her hand still out, and walked closer to where it hovered, still spitting out sparks.

“Daedra of Oblivion,” she said to it, her voice echoing. “Atronach of storm. I have called you in my time of need, and you have answered. I have proven my magic to you. I have proven my strength to you. I have proven myself to you.”

She walked closer. The dragon’s body glowed behind her. The atronach shifted and sparked, but stayed still.

“Daedra of Oblivion,” she repeated. “Atronach of storm. I command you to serve me.”

She walked closer, the storm surrounding the atronach making her hair and robes swirl. With a cry, she pushed her bloody hand through the lighting and up against its chest.

“Daedra of Oblivion, atronach of storm! I am your mistress. You are _mine_ to command. You will serve _no other_! I bind you to me with my magic! I bind you to me with my will! I bind you to me with my blood!”

She pulled her hand away with a loud gasp, swaying on her feet. The atronach did nothing, and for a terrible moment, Argis thought it might attack. But after a second, its head dropped low, its body bent in supplication. It bowed, then disappeared with a rumble like a rockfall.

“Oh,” Valerie said. Her voice was normal again, melodic and lilting, a little surprised. “Oh, it worked!”

Then she dropped to the ground.

He screamed her name then, scrambling across the camp to get to her. As he stumbled, he saw that the light that had been glowing, surrounding the dragon’s charred bones, was now whisking through the air and swirling around Valerie, where she lay prone in the dirt. In the back of his mind, he remembered hearing that after the Dragonborn had killed the dragon outside Whiterun, they absorbed its soul. He moved faster.

But the time he reached her, the light was nearly gone, faded to a soft glow that shimmered on Valerie’s skin.

“Argis?” she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered. She looked drawn, weak, frighteningly small. She held her hand up to her throat, like it hurt her to talk.

He gathered her to his chest, pressing her small body against him. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, I’m still here.”

“Potion,” she gasped. “Blue. My bag.”

“Shit. Yes, I’ll get it— One second—” he babbled, placing her back on the ground as gently as he could. He scrambled over to the tent—it was smoking a little, but mostly intact—and pulled the biggest blue potion he could find out of her bag, then made his way back to her. He uncorked it with his teeth and held her in his arms as he helped her drink it.

He let out an audible sigh of relief as her color returned, her cheeks turning pink in her pale face. She held up one glowing hand to the cut by her hairline, and he watched in disbelief as the wound closed in front of his eyes, leaving a small pink line.

She finished the rest of the potion and relaxed into his arms, letting the empty bottle roll into the dirt.

“Valerie.” He had no idea what to say to her, how to react to everything that had just happened.

“If you want out, Argis,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Just say the words.”

“Valerie,” he repeated dumbly, remembering what she had told him, that night in Vlindrel Hall. Was it only days ago? He felt like he had aged years since then. “I… I…”

“It’s all right, Argis. Just say it.”

What could he possibly say? _You’re the Dragonborn? You killed a dragon and absorbed its soul and, oh yeah, you also managed to conjure a fucking storm daedra from Oblivion at the same time?_

_And you’re scary and beautiful and strong and brave and I will never, ever leave you?_

_In fact, I really think that I might actually fucking love you?_

“Valerie... I...” He licked his dry lips. The realization of his feelings—of everything—had shaken him to his core. “You should call him Sparky.”

He had never been good at saying what he felt. Or, in general, talking.

She opened her eyes. “What?”

“The storm atronach. You should call him Sparky.”

“I was thinking Rocky,” she said, cautiously. She shifted, sitting up. 

He got to his feet. His head still hurt, a bit, and his limbs were still a little wobbly, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good. The sun shone down on them, warm and strong. In the distance, he could hear the cry of a hawk. His blood sang.

He was Argis the Bulwark, and he was the Dragonborn’s housecarl.

“Sparky’s better,” he told her.

She smiled. “Sparky it is.”

He held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY the big reveal! I apologize that it took... 11 chapters, yikes. 
> 
> Also, no matter how many times I rewrote the binding-the-atronach scene, I'm not super happy with it, so I also apologize if it sounds too much like that scene from The Craft. ("I bind you, Nancy..." LOL.)


	12. Say Anything

She told him everything as they walked back to Markarth. Getting arrested with a group of Stormcloaks at the border with Cyrodiil, seeing Alduin at Helgen, the dragon at Whiterun’s western watchtower. The awed Whiterun guard who had told her she was the Dragonborn. How she was nearly killed by a frost troll climbing the 7,000 steps to the Greybeards. Meeting Delphine, the woman from the Blades, and fighting the dragon resurrected at Kynesgrove.

When she got to the part about infiltrating the _Thalmor fucking Embassy_ , he had to stop. He leaned against a rock, bracing himself against the hard surface, and shook his head, muttering.

“When you said,” he said, his voice faint, “that there had been an _incident_ at the Thalmor Embassy, I thought… I thought you…”

“Yes?” Valerie prompted.

“I… I thought you broke a _plate_ , or something!”

“I broke a lot more than that,” she told him.

It was so absurd that he could do nothing but laugh. So he did, slightly hysterically, leaning against the rock and staring up at the clear sky until he could breathe again. She waited with him, smiling, until he had composed himself, and finished by telling him about her and her friend Marcurio, finding the old man called Esbern in the Ratways of Riften.

“And now,” she continued, “I’m due to meet Delphine and Esbern near Sky Haven Temple at Karthspire in two weeks. That’s part of the reason I moved to Markarth—I think I’m going to be spending a lot of time there, so I wanted a home nearby.”

“Huh,” said Argis.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” she said. She stopped walking and put her hand on his arm. She looked up at him earnestly. “Truly, I am. For what it’s worth, I was going to take you with me, to Karthspire. I was planning on telling you on the way.”

“It’s all right,” he said, looking down at her hand on his arm. The skin was still red and raw looking, from when she had touched the storm atronach, but she said it would be healed in a day or so. “It’s…”

“It’s a lot,” Valerie said. “I know. You don’t have to say anything.”

His stomach growled, and she lifted her hand, smiling at him. He tried not to be embarrassed; he was starving. To help her get her strength back for the journey home, he had sat with her earlier after she had healed herself and made her eat their two apples, and their cheese. It seemed like an eternity ago that he had been thinking about grilled mushrooms from Karthwasten’s inn.

“Or… we could eat?” she said. “I’m still hungry too, actually.”

“We could eat,” he agreed.

The inn was tiny, a small thatched building off to the side of Karthwasten Hall. Inside was empty aside from the bored-looking barman. He and Valerie put their things down at a corner table.

“Can you get me a full breakfast?” she asked.

“Yeah?” he asked, surprised.

She nodded. “And some coffee.”

He went up to the bar to order for them, then came back to their table with two mugs of lukewarm coffee.

“About 20 minutes,” Argis said.

Valerie nodded, then lifted her mug and drained it in one go.

“Thirsty?” Argis said, his eyebrows raised.

She wiped her mouth on the edge of her sleeve, then put her head down on her arms. “Shit,” she murmured. Now that they had sat down, she seemed exhausted.

He frowned. “We could stay here tonight,” he offered. “If you need more rest, there’s no rush. We don’t need to go back right away. Lisbet can go another day without her statue.”

She lifted her head up, shaking it. “No, I’ll be fine after I eat a little more. It’s the…” She glanced around. “It’s the soul thing. It’s weird. They’re always so…” She rubbed at the tabletop with her finger, worrying a knot in the wood. “...hungry, after.”

His mouth felt dry. He wondered how he had ever been afraid that he was a mage, now that he knew she had the soul of a dragon. That she had other dragons’ souls inside of her. What was throwing a fireball or two when she could literally breathe fire?

“What does it feel like?” he asked, before he could lose his nerve. “Does it… hurt?”

“Absorbing a soul?”

He nodded.

She frowned, still tracing the pattern of the wood on the table. “No. Not really. It feels… odd, when it first happens, like a…” She brought her hands together and held them up to her throat, making a motion like the fluttering of a butterfly. “It’s like a panic. Like they’re trapped, afraid. You know that feeling in your throat when you need to cry, but can’t?”

It had been a long time. “I do,” Argis said.

“It feels like that. And then, eventually… It just stops. And then I feel normal again.” She glanced up at him, through her eyelashes. “No one’s ever asked me what it feels like, before.”

“Well…” he said. “Do you? Feel normal?”

“Yeah,” she told him. “I don’t feel any different than I used to. It’s been more than a year now. I’m still the same person… I… I think I am, at least. The only thing that’s changed is that my magic’s gotten stronger, better. I’ve always been decent at enchanting, and conjuration. But that storm atronach spell? I’ve only read about it in books. I don’t even think the conjuration master at the college can conjure one. And my alteration—it’s way better than it should be. And I can dual cast, and my ward duration—” She glanced at him, and seeing his confused face, laughed. “Sorry, too technical?”

“A bit,” he acknowledged.

“Basically,” she explained, “mages usually specialize in one school of magic. They can learn spells from other schools—say, a destruction mage can learn a healing spell or two—but it’s really uncommon to be anything more than apprentice-level in multiple schools, especially if you don’t have the lifespan of a mer to learn everything in.”

“So it would be like,” he said, “if say I were good at using my sword and shield, but also just as good as with a bow and arrow, and dual-wielding, and using heavier weapons like warhammers?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Pretty much exactly.”

He gave a low whistle. “Is there a type of magic that you’re not good at?”

“Illusion. Mind manipulation.” She made a face. “It creeps me out, so I don’t like to try. That’s probably why. And I hate frost magic. Nords are usually the best at it. It feels wrong when I cast a frost spell. Which is a shame, since it can be quite powerful.”

“Nords are… Nords aren’t mages, though?” It came out more like a question than a statement.

She laughed. “Of course they are. Not many, but a few. The jarl of Whiterun’s court wizard is a Nord, and the alteration master at the college.”

Huh. “No kidding.”

She nodded, and her eyes lit up at something over his shoulder. “Oh good. Food’s here.”

The barman dropped a large plate in front of each of them. Valerie thanked him politely, asked for more coffee, and proceeded to eat with a speed and ferocity that made him want to laugh.

He ate his eggs, then the tomatoes, lost in thought. He started on his bacon, then said, “So Nords can really learn magic?”

“Mmmhmm,” said Valerie, her mouth full. Her plate was half finished. She held up a finger, finished chewing, and swallowed. “Yes. Anyone can. Some people have a more natural aptitude than others, but that’s the same with every kind of skill, isn’t it? I’m not the ideal build for, say, swinging a warhammer around, but I could probably hit something with one if I practiced enough.”

The barman came back with her next cup of coffee; she smiled at him in thanks, then continued.

“With a little training, anyone can do some simple spells. I’ve even read instances of people with no training being able to cast flames, or a small healing spell, in dire circumstances—like building a fire so they don’t freeze to death, or closing a wound so they don’t bleed out.”

He nodded, spearing a couple of mushrooms with his fork. “Interesting. Can I ask you something, Valerie?”

She sipped her coffee. “Shoot.”

“Why don’t you carry any weapons on you?”

She put the mug down, staring at it. “I have a dagger.”

“You keep that in your bag, though. I’ve only seen you use it to cut apples. You really should carry something on you—”

“Don’t tell me what I should do, Argis.” She looked at him steadily.

 _Fuck._ “I meant no offense,” he said, slowly, trying to get the words to come out right. “I could help you train, if you wanted. I know you were joking about the warhammer before, but you might do well with a bow, or a light sword.”

“No,” she said.

“But I’d feel safer—”

“I said _no_ , Argis. End of discussion.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. “Excuse me. I’ve finished my breakfast. I need to get some air.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face as he watched her make her way out of the inn. The door creaked loudly as it closed behind her.

 _Gods_. How had he managed to mess up so spectacularly again? He went over their conversation in his mind. What had he said to make her so mad? He was just asking if she’d carry a weapon…

He pushed around the rest of his food with his fork. There were some mushrooms, still, but they were cold and unappetizing. The chair he was sitting on felt hard, suddenly uncomfortable. His sword pressed against the leg of the chair, safe in its scabbard. His shield was on the floor, by his feet.

Maybe she found weapons distasteful? He knew that wasn’t a Breton thing. Was it a mage thing? Refusing to carry a weapon made no sense to him, even if she did have magic to defend herself. There was honor in fighting, face to face, sword against sword. It was violent, yes—weapons did make for gruesome deaths...

But it wasn’t like her spells sent Forsworn to Sovngarde on a blanket of cloud. He saw how the people she fought died—fire was painful and slow, and the lightning… The shock and the horror, how they clawed at their chests in the seconds after their hearts stopped…

That was something he was unlikely to ever forget.

He stood up abruptly, rooting around in his bag for the coinpurse they’d taken from Bruca’s Leap Redoubt. He dropped some money on the table, then picked up his things, and Valerie’s bag, and headed back into the village.

The door swung shut behind him as he stepped into the sunlight, looking for his thane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who is reading and commenting and kudos-ing and subscribing and bookmarking! These notifications really (sadly? lol) make my day. This is so far the longest thing I have ever written, and by far the longest time spent with an OC, so your encouragement is much appreciated :)


	13. Another Layer

She hadn’t gotten far. He saw her right away, drawing water from the well in the center of the village square. She was drinking by the time he approached, her pale neck stretched out, chin lifted to the sky as she swallowed.

She held the ladle out to him. “Want some?”

He shook his head.

She put the ladle back in the bucket with a sigh, then lowered it slowly. When they heard the small splash of it hitting the water at the bottom, she turned to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be short with you.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t my place.”

“No,” she said. “It is your place. You’re my housecarl, you’re meant to protect me, of course you’d want me to carry weapons.” She took her pack from him and gestured down the hill that led from the village back to the road. “Come. Let’s walk.”

As they walked down the path, Valerie hummed a little, pausing to pick some juniper berries from a tree. He stood next to her, silently, and pulled a branch down so she could reach the ones that were too high. She smiled at him in thanks.

He felt relieved, of course, that she was no longer annoyed with him, but still confused. Why had his suggestion been so upsetting? And how did she change her emotions so quickly, forgive him so easily? It was baffling.

He thought of before in the entrance to the cave, of how her small hands rested on his chest, then stroked his face softly as the dragon thundered outside. And how she had followed that by knocking him unconscious with a fucking dragon shout.

Would he ever understand what she wanted from him?

“Here’s the reason,” she said, as he let go of the juniper tree’s branches and they snapped back into place. She stepped lightly off the verge and back up to the path.

“Wh—what?” He trudged after her, trying to keep up in the heavy steel plate armor. “Reason for what?”

“That I don’t carry weapons,” she said. She walked briskly, staring straight ahead.

“Oh,” Argis replied, dumbly.

“I was at Helgen the first time I killed someone. They were about to execute me, and then Alduin turned up, and I managed to escape with the help of a Stormcloak. His name was Ralof.”

Argis nodded. She had told him this, briefly, while they were walking to Karthwasten, but she hadn’t elaborated on any of the details.

“We ran into the keep, and he cut my bonds, and he found a mace for me, to use in case we were attacked. Which we were, almost immediately. Ralof took on two of the Imperial soldiers, but the other one came for me, and I panicked and just… swung at his face. It must have been the adrenaline, or… or something. But the mace hit him and…”

She had said all of this quickly, almost emotionless, like they were talking about the weather as they walked. But now she turned to him, and the expression on her face made him stop short.

“It was terrible, Argis. I broke half his face open, and the impact—it went all the way up my arm, I could feel it in my bones, through my whole body. His head just shattered, and chunks of… of brain and bone and blood went everywhere, on me, my clothes, in my hair, in my _mouth_ … and he dropped to the ground, but he was still alive and he _looked at me_ , he made this horrible noise, and I saw his _eye_ —”

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Valerie. It’s okay.” He put his hands on her shoulders, but she was breathing heavily, almost gasping. He’d seen plenty of gruesome deaths in his time, and seen just as many soldiers panicking and hysterical afterwards—even years later. “Breathe with me. Slowly,” he instructed. “In… Now out.” He tilted her chin up with his finger, so she could see his face. “It’s fine. You’re fine, I’m right here. Just breathe.”

She nodded, her breath still coming too fast, her face still tight with panic. Without warning, she pushed herself into his chest, clinging to him and shuddering.

Oh, _Valerie_.

He wrapped his arms around her, bending down awkwardly, his face an inch away from her hair. He had wanted to touch her, to hold her, from the second he first saw her. But this wasn’t in passion, like he’d hoped. It was just comfort. He would be an idiot to think it was anything else.

Even still, he allowed himself to let his chin rest on the top of her head, and he closed his eyes. He could feel how soft her hair was, even through the stubble of his beard. It smelled like lavender.

He took deep, slow breaths, and after a moment, he felt her relax, mimicking his steady breathing with her own. He concentrated on the feeling of the small span of her back under her robes, the warmth of her against him. She fit perfectly in his arms.

“It’s all right,” he said, calmly. “It’s all right…”

She pulled away and his hands fell, useless, to his sides. His arms felt empty.

“Sorry.” She brushed at her eyes with her hand. “It’s been a while since I told that story.”

He felt guilty immediately, watching her wipe away her tears. He pushed the ghost of her in his arms to the back of his mind, to think about later.

“It’s fine,” he said again. “I get it. I’ve seen things like that, too.”

“And yet you still fight,” Valerie replied.

“You fight, too,” he said. “Just differently.”

She nodded, and started walking back down the path. He re-adjusted his pack, keeping pace beside her.

“I know you must think I’m a hypocrite,” she told him. He made a noise of protest, but she talked over him. “It’s okay, really. It doesn’t make sense, I know. But I just can’t make myself pick up a weapon again. The destruction spells, the atronachs—it’s just another layer, between me and death. Between me and killing. It’s easier. I guess that makes me a coward, but… I never wanted to be a warrior, you know?”

“You’re not a coward,” he told her. “Don’t say that. You killed a fucking _dragon_ this morning, and you killed a briarheart last night. And you’re right—you may not be a warrior, but I am, and you haven’t left my side once yet during a fight.” He took a breath. “And Valerie, when you fight, the spells you use, your magic— It’s amazing, like nothing I’ve ever seen—”

“It doesn’t scare you anymore?” she interrupted. “I don’t scare you anymore?”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, I… maybe a little.”

She laughed, then, and he grinned at her.

“It’s amazing,” he repeated. His eyes swept over her, her dusty robes, her mess of lockets and amulets, her shimmering rings on her small fingers. Her dark, tangled hair, pushed back from her face. He loved the delighted look in her eyes, how happy he could make her just by telling the truth. “You… you’re amazing,” he blurted out. He ducked his head immediately, furiously embarrassed.

But out of the corner of his eye he could see her reaction, and the way she beamed at him made up for any of his awkwardness.

She took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, like they were about to walk into a palace, instead of just along the dirt path that ran down the hill next to the Karth River.

“Oh, you probably say that to all the Dragonborns,” she teased him.

“Only the ones who are also my boss,” he replied, and smiled when she laughed.

They walked on, Valerie’s hand still on his arm. A strong breeze blew through their hair as they headed down the path. She hummed under her breath, a little bit out of tune, something lighthearted and sweet. He thought he had heard it before, once, years ago, maybe from a group of traveling musicians playing at the Silver-Blood Inn. They walked at the same pace; his legs were much longer than hers, but the heavy armor slowed him down enough that they matched her shorter strides.

This was all right, Argis thought. He could do this. Despite how good she had felt in his arms, despite how much he still wanted to kiss her, despite how much he still wanted her in his bed—he could be just her housecarl. He could comfort her, keep her safe. Make her happy.

If he couldn’t love her like he wanted to, he would take this.

They kept walking, and she didn’t move her hand until they crossed the bridge by Salvius Farm.

When she pulled away from him, she dropped her rucksack to the ground so she could root through it. She tugged out her traveling cloak and shook out the wrinkles, then fastened it around her neck so her robes were hidden.

“Who else knows?” he asked her, watching her fingers deftly twisting the ties by her neck.

“The Dragonborn thing? Just the Jarl, Faleen and Raerek. I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself, though, Argis. It… It makes things easier.”

He nodded. Of course Faleen knew. She practically told him herself. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes. What had she told him again? Don’t underestimate Valerie? He had done just that, even while telling Faleen that he wouldn’t. “Of course.”

“Argis, there is something…” She was glancing toward the city’s entrance. By the stables, Banning was tossing some meat to his dogs, who growled and snapped at each other. There were half a dozen guards by the doors. A few stood at attention, but two were playing cards and one was half asleep, his head leaning back against the stone pillar. The Khajiit caravan was nowhere to be seen, just a series of flattened circles in the grass where their tents had laid.

“About this Dragonborn business… There’s bound to be some rumors, eventually. People are going to make connections, but… they’re probably going to be the wrong ones,” Valerie said. “At least, based on my previous experience.”

He reached his arm up, scratched the back of his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that people will put two and two together and get five. They’ll expect the Dragonborn, this great warrior hero from Nord legend, see the two of us, and, well…” She gestured between herself and him. He shifted on his feet, suddenly very aware of how much he towered over her, his heavy armor glinting in the sunlight. He remembered how easy it had been to throw her over his shoulder, when he’d been running from the dragon at Bruca’s Leap Redoubt. “They’ll think the Dragonborn is—”

“Me,” Argis finished, understanding. “They’ll think I’m the Dragonborn.”

The thought didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. He was used to people making assumptions about him, because of the way he looked, because of what he did for a living, because he knew when to keep quiet. If it was easier for people to think that Valerie wasn’t the Dragonborn, then that was fine. It was just another way he could protect her. “I don’t mind,” he told her. “I can handle it.”

She nodded, though she still looked a little concerned. Argis had a sudden flash of recollection, gossiping about the Dragonborn at the Silver-Blood Inn last week, the night before he’d met Valerie. 

_I’ve heard he’s a red-headed Nord warrior… He’s a mage, an Imperial... I heard he’s an orc, a huge ranger, deadly with his bow…_

“Valerie, your friend Marcurio,” he said slowly, “You traveled with him? He’s an Imperial mage?”

“Mmmhmm.” Valerie nodded.

“Did you also travel with a red-headed Nord? A warrior? We heard some rumours...” He trailed off.

She smiled fondly. “That’s Erik. He’s sweet.”

Despite what he had told himself before, about being content to be just Valerie’s housecarl, something hot and jealous inside him twisted at the look on her face when she said Erik’s name. He pushed it down. “An orc ranger?”

Her expression changed, and she frowned. “Ghorbash gro-Dushnik. That didn’t… that didn’t work out.”

His insides twisted again at that, too. He wondered what was worse—Valerie loving someone else, or Valerie being unhappy.

“No gossip about Lydia?” Valerie asked. “She’s a Nord, with dark hair.”

That housecarl again. “No.” He shook his head. “No, we just heard rumors about the men—” He paused, remembering.

No, that wasn’t true either. They _had_ talked about women—a female companion for each of the potential Dragonborns. A Breton enchantress, an alchemist, a fire and lightning witch.

How much more oblivious could he have been?

“Gods, I am an idiot,” he said out loud.

She laughed. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He waved his hand, not wanting to explain. “I just owe Frabbi an apology. And...”

 _If my thane is the Dragonborn,_ then _I’ll buy you a drink._

 _Fuck_. He supposed he owed Degaine a drink as well. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” she told him. She nodded toward the gates. “Shall we go home?”

He paused at the foot of the steps. “Just… one thing?”

She looked at him expectantly.

He hesitated, wondering how to say it without insulting her. “Don’t shout at me again. That... really fucking hurt.” Eloquent, as usual. _Idiot._

She frowned. “I’m sorry. I won’t. But… Don’t pick me up. I know I’m small, but I’m not a fucking doll, Argis. Or a child. And you need to listen to me, when I ask you to do something. Especially if we’re fighting something you haven’t fought before.”

He nodded. That was fair. “I was only trying to keep you safe.”

Her face softened. “I know.”

They started up the flight of stairs, passing the two guards who were mid-card game, perched on the edge of the steps.

“Although, you know… some of them can be kind of fun, the shouts,” Valerie said.

“Yeah?”

She turned to the side, lifted her hand to her face like she was brushing an eyelash off her cheek. It concealed her mouth, and he heard a magnified, distorted version of her voice boom, “Hey, skeever-butt!” from somewhere to their left.

The dozing guard woke up. “What did you call me, you milk-drinking bitch?” he shouted, towards one of the guards playing cards.

She stood up. “I didn’t say shit, you saggy-balled, skeever-faced _fuck_!”

Another boom, from the right this time. “Hey, melon-nose!”

And from behind: “Hey, cheese brain!”

By the time they crossed the threshold into the city, the guards were shouting and pointing and shoving each other behind them, screaming insults so vile that even Argis—for whom “fuck” was a regular part of his vocabulary—was blushing.

“Did that… Did that really just happen?” he asked, still mortified, as the sounds of the insults— _“Is that your face, or a giant’s hairy asshole?”_ —faded into background noise.

Valerie was giggling behind her hands. She pulled them down, her eyes bright, and whispered, “Saggy-balled, skeever-faced fuck!”

Argis laughed so hard he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate when they fight too, guys! 
> 
> Also, fair warning for the next chapter, this is (finally! lol) going to start to live up to its E rating.


	14. The Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for a brief (non-explicit) rape threat towards the end of this chapter.*

That night, he dreamed of Valerie.

He dreamed of himself sleeping, wrapped in furs on his housecarl’s bed in Vlindrel Hall. He dreamed that she padded in, her feet bare on the stone, and slid in under the furs next to him. He dreamed that he took her small, soft body in his arms, kissed her until she gasped with desire, touched her breasts and between her legs until she was hot and wet with wanting. He dreamed that he knelt between her thighs, his arms on either side of hers, enclosing her, protecting her. Waiting.

He dreamed that she touched his face, her fingers tracing gently over the scars.

“Argis, I need you,” he dreamed that she said.

And then the dream changed.

She was on top, fucking him wildly, one hand cupping her own breast, the other between her legs, touching herself where they joined. He had his hands on her hips, holding on, desperate, gasping, pleading with himself not to come too soon.

Her hair crackled, and the room filled with electric light.

Her eyes were closed, but he knew that if she opened them, they’d be the same bright, glaring white as they had been when she had fought the dragon.

“Would you die for me, Argis?” she whispered. The walls shook with her voice. Her eyes were still closed. He grasped at her hips, squeezing her soft flesh. He thought his heart might beat out of his chest.

“Yes. Anything,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “I’ll do anything you want, anything…”

Her back arched and she wailed, and he watched as she tilted her head up, breathing fire at the ceiling as she came.

He woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat and aching and hard, on his back in his little bed in Vlindrel Hall.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “What the fuck was that?”

He sat up, still shaky, and slid his feet off the bed to the cold stone floor. After a minute, he stood up, making his way across the room to the basin. He picked up the jug, drinking from it directly, then poured the remains of the water on his hands, and splashed at his face.

He walked back to bed.

Sleep evaded him. The dream was still clear in his mind, and wouldn’t leave his thoughts. The soft, vulnerable Valerie from the beginning of the dream and the desperately arousing—yet terrifying—Valerie from the end were both etched in his brain, moaning and gasping and beautiful and much, much too real.

He had avoided getting himself off since he had met her, knowing how attractive he found her, knowing that he would dishonor her by picturing her, her soft mouth, her large breasts, her pale hands, how her sweet voice would say his name as she—

He made a frustrated noise, pulling his pillow from behind his head and thumping his face with it. His cock tented the blanket obnoxiously.

He pulled the pillow off his face. “Go away,” he groaned, toward the general direction of his waist.

He tried to fall back asleep, but the blood humming through his body eventually won out. And if, as he stroked his cock to a harsh, unsatisfying orgasm, the anonymous, faceless women his mind conjured up were a little paler, a little smaller than usual, their gasps and moans as he fucked them a little sweeter, a little more melodious... he steadfastly ignored it.

***

They spent the next couple of weeks around Markarth.

For the first few days, they stayed in Vlindrel Hall. Despite the fact that there was no way Valerie could have possibly known what he had dreamed about, he avoided her the morning after, worried that his face or his words would give something away. After one curt answer too many, when he caught a glimpse of her expression, her lips pursed in a confused frown, he wanted to kick himself for being such an awkward asshole.

“Sorry,” he told her. “Sorry, I… I didn’t sleep well, last night. My head’s not… feeling right.”

Because you’re a fucking pervert who can’t stop yourself from fantasizing about your thane, his brain added, helpfully.

He tried his hardest to act normally, and eventually, the dream faded to the back of his mind.

Over the next couple of days, he went out a few times, to the Inn and Arnleif and Sons to refurbish their supplies—Lisbet was so grateful for the safe return of her Dibella statue that she nearly cried, then offered them a substantial discount—but mostly he stayed in, reading. He finished _The Third Door_ as well as the book they’d found at Bruca’s Leap Redoubt, _A Tragedy in Black_. It had disturbed him, the tale of a conjuration spell gone wrong, but he tried to ignore the feeling of dread the book caused. Valerie had never mentioned any plans to conjure a dremora.

When they were home, she spent a lot of time in the alchemy room, or the enchanting room. Nearly everything she wore was bespelled, down to her boots, and they often required work to, as she referred to it, “patch up the enchantments.” She would put small spells on the trinkets they picked up when they were out—a silver necklace that could help you heal faster, an amethyst ring that could make you a better smith—and sell them to Kerah or Lisbet. The enchanting work she did still made him a little wary, although she broke down the process for him in explanation, and assured him that the soul gems were only filled with the souls of creatures, not people. She shut the door when she worked, and he tried not to bother her.

When she was at her alchemy lab, though, she left the door open. She had a chest stocked with ingredients, and he could see her working away from his seat by the fire. He liked how she talked to herself, and hummed when she ground the ingredients together. Every once in a while she would curse spectacularly when something went wrong, and he’d look over the top of his book and grin at her.

Whatever she did filled the house with spicy, flowery fragrances. She wasn’t making potions, she explained to him, when he came in to peer over her shoulder. She mostly made balms and lotions, bath oils and hair cleansers, that she traded with local alchemists and shop owners. Her mother used to make them on the side, and Valerie remembered the recipes and ingredients they needed, and had picked up some more in her travels in Hammerfell and Elsweyr. By trading her creations, she could get more valuable potions for less money than if she’d bought them herself. Bothela’s customers were apparently big fans of a massage oil she made, she told him, which she mixed with a minor stamina potion.

He laughed at that. “Somehow that... doesn’t surprise me.”

When they got restless, they went out. They didn’t exactly look for things to fight, but things to fight always seemed to find them. Valerie talked to everyone, and everyone talked to Valerie. She was like a magnet for people who needed things: a letter delivered, a necklace returned, a problem solved.

They fought an enormous spider under the Keep for Calcelmo. He paid them well, but Argis would have done it again, for free, just to hear Valerie’s high-pitched shriek one more time as the huge, monstrous spider descended from the ceiling.

“It’s the size of a fucking horse!” she had screamed, hiding behind a pillar. Argis put arrow after arrow through its eyes and tried to keep himself from laughing at her.

Sometimes they went on walks outside the city, gathering alchemy ingredients and meandering around the neighboring farms and mines. While they were outside Left Hand Mine—Valerie had stopped to play hide and seek with a little girl and her shaggy dog—they heard a pair of miners approach, gasping for breath and shouting about a Forsworn attack. He and Valerie had glanced at each other, and within minutes Valerie had calmed the miners and she and Argis were heading to Kolskeggr Mine to clear the Forsworn out.

The more they fought, the better her aim was getting. She was frustrated, though, because she felt the strength of her destruction spells had plateaued, and although she knew stronger ones, she was afraid Argis would be caught in her line of fire.

“Don’t worry about me,” he assured her. They had nearly cleared out the mine. He gestured to his enchanted necklaces, which he wore all the time. He’d gotten used to the tinny humming feeling they had, and hardly thought of it. “I can take it.”

“All right,” Valerie said, but she didn’t look convinced. 

Her next spell killed a Forsworn briarheart in one shot, then rebounded and knocked him flat on his ass.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moaned, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cave.

She appeared next to him in an instant, worry-stricken and apologetic. She conjured a storm atronach with one hand, who chased down the last remaining Forsworn. With her other hand she rooted around in her bag for a healing potion.

“Sorry,” she said, as he drank it. “Chain lightning. I was afraid it would do that.”

“Fuck,” he said again. His head felt too raw to say anything else. His teeth hurt.

“I’ll fix this,” she tried to assure him. She helped him to his feet, determination on her face as she looked up at him. The storm atronach rumbled up next to them, tame and relaxed now that its task was over. “I’ll get you stronger enchantments, I’ll find a way to up your magic resistance, something to block my spells—I’ll figure this out, Argis, I promise. I don’t want to have to stop fighting with you.”

“Don’t want that either,” he managed to grind out. He swayed, trying not to throw up.

She stayed up late into the night that night, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, surrounded by open books. He glanced at the pages, when he came out of the bath to say goodnight, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. When he finally, through the heavy bronze doors, heard the sounds of her going to bed, he thought it must have been close to dawn.

They both slept late the next morning. For lunch, they went to the Silver-Blood Inn. Neither of them had the energy to cook anything, and Valerie seemed too jittery to be stuck in the house. She changed before they left, into a yellow dress he’d never seen before. She had pulled her hair back, too, and put on that dark stuff she used around her eyes, that made them look bigger and darker. The dress was more low-cut than usual, and Argis had to actively try not to stare down her cleavage.

He thought, uncomfortably, about the dream he had had, how she had cupped her own breast, heavy and full in her small hand as she fucked him.

At the inn, they ordered a plate of cold beef with cheese, bread and pickles and shared it in near silence. When they were nearly done, Valerie, who’d spent the whole meal glancing around the inn like she was expecting someone, made a victorious noise under her breath. He followed her glance to see the Vigilant of Stendarr, the one who was always lurking outside the abandoned house down the street.

Valerie watched the Vigilant as he took a seat across the inn from them, near the fire. She slid off her chair, coming around to Argis’ side of the table and putting her hand on his arm.

“Be right back,” she said. She grinned at him, then walked across the inn with her drink in her hand, and sat next to the Vigilant.

She flirted with him for nearly an hour.

Sometimes she touched his shoulder, sometimes she flicked her hair back. Argis watched, glowering into his mug as she laughed at something the Vigilant said. The Vigilant became more and more animated, swinging his own mug around as Valerie giggled next to him.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to scowl as they bent their heads together, whispering about something. Argis couldn’t hear anything above the din of the rest of the inn’s customers, but his mind supplied the conversation: _Oh, Vigilant of Stendarr, you’re so handsome and strong, of course I’d love to go back to your room and polish your greatsword—_

Idiot, he told himself. Valerie wouldn’t talk like that. And it’s none of your business who she goes to bed with—

Valerie stood up abruptly, patting the Vigilant on his shoulder and turning to head back to Argis. The Vigilant watched her go, looking a little forlorn.

—or doesn’t.

Valerie approached their table, looking slightly drunk but delighted. “Found it,” she whispered to him, as she climbed back into her seat. “There’s a shield, a daedric artifact of Peryite, that repels magic. He let slip that there’s a shrine to Peryite in the mountains north of here. We can go there to find out more.” She wobbled a little, on her chair.

Argis stared at her, dumbfounded. “I… That’s what you were talking about? Finding something to protect me from your spells?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “Took a while, he was pretty tight-lipped at first. But I can be very… persuasive.” She looked down, then tugged the neckline of her dress up a little, back to its normal level.

Argis shook his head and laughed, half at her and half at himself. “All right. Let’s go find this shield, then. You ready?”

She bumped her mug against his, grinning, clearly pleased with herself. “One more drink?”

***

Two days later they were in the bowels of Bthardamz, covered in sweat and dirt and vomit and blood, watching a Bosmer in mage robes pace around a huge, murky chamber.

“He’s very powerful, strongly immune to magic,” Valerie breathed. “I can feel it.” They were hiding in the shadows behind the doorway. Argis was afraid to move, lest his armor clang and give them away, but he could barely hear her. He inched his face closer.

“Full of himself, though,” Argis whispered. “With his army of worshippers.”

Valerie nodded slowly. “I need to be smart about this, Argis. I’m going to go in alone. Wait here, I’ll need you at the end.”

He swallowed. “The end?”

She stood up, stepping away from him. “When it looks like I’m about to lose.” And without any weapons, without any armor, she walked through the doorway to face Orchendor alone.

He listened, leaning against the stone wall as she challenged the mage. She pitched her voice higher than normal, made it tremble and waver, making her sound younger, and inexperienced.

“You came here alone to challenge me?” the mage sneered. “A tiny witch like you? Can you even conjure a familiar yet, little thing?”

Argis grinned.

As the sounds of their battle started, Argis moved closer to the doorway to watch the two of them fight. Valerie had been right—Orchendor was very powerful, and Valerie wasn’t really fighting back, instead mostly flinging up defensive wards and sidestepping his spells, twirling out of the way on her light feet. Occasionally she’d use something weak—a flame spell she used to light their fire, sometimes, and a spell that sparked and fizzled, like a damp firework. She conjured nothing. 

To an impartial observer, the fight would have looked over from the start, the stronger, more powerful mage dominating over the weaker one, throwing spell after spell at her. But Argis knew what Valerie was doing—getting Orchendor to use as many spells as possible, to drain his magic and leave him exposed. It would have been obvious to anyone who knew how Valerie fought. Who knew her like he did.

And it worked. Pretending to be exhausted, Valerie fell to her knees in front of Orchendor, using both hands to throw a ward up before her. Even Argis could tell that the ward was strong, bright and shining and pulsing with magic. He stepped through the doorway and into the chamber.

But Orchendor didn’t seem to notice, either the strength of her ward or Argis approaching behind him. He walked closer to Valerie, his back towards the door, exposed to Argis. “Well, little witch,” he muttered. “You have given me some entertainment. Perhaps I’ll spare you, and we can come to an… arrangement. You are, after all, already on your knees...” His hand reached out, his yellowed fingers reaching for her hair, and Argis snarled, drawing his sword.

But before Orchendor could touch her, Valerie dropped her ward and brought her hands together, shooting a firebolt into his stomach. It didn’t seem to hurt him, but he staggered back, stunned, and caught sight of Argis as he stumbled to stay on his feet.

“What… what is this?” Orchendor gasped, his hand over his heart. With the other hand, he tried to desperately conjure a lightning spell, the pale blue light flaring and sputtering into sparks. He glanced back and forth between Valerie, now getting to her feet, and Argis, approaching him steadily. “You said you came alone, you little bitch!” He backed up, desperately, but Argis was right next to him.

“No,” Valerie said. “I didn’t.” Her eyes flicked to Argis, and he shoved his sword through Orchendor’s heart.

He withdrew his sword with a jerk and the mage fell to the floor, his face pressed to the stone ground. Valerie stared at him, toed his body with her boot to make sure he was dead as the blood pooled around him. She had a disgusted expression on her face.

She glanced up at Argis. “I need a bath. Let’s go get that fucking shield.”

The sun had nearly set by the time they got back to Markarth. They sold their spoils to the Khajiit caravan, leaving some jewels for Kerah and Lisbet. In Vlindrel Hall, Valerie bathed first, while Argis cleaned the slime and vomit off his armor, and both of their boots. He shined Spellbreaker, marveling at its craftsmanship, its age, the fact that it was an ancient daedric artifact that he got to carry—even if it had previously belonged to the daedric prince of puke and pus.

Earlier that afternoon, at the shrine, when Argis had voiced his concern that she was offering herself, her soul, to the daedric prince Peryite, just to better protect him, her housecarl, she had shaken her head.

“Peryite will need to get in line, then, after all the other daedric princes I’ve encountered. They can fight amongst themselves to the end of the world, Argis, if they want to. I know that my soul is my own.” She grinned at him as Peryite’s sanctified fire turned to ash. “Besides, it’s worth it, in any case. I rather like having you around.”

Gods, he fucking loved her.

***

That night, after he had bathed, he found Valerie sitting in front of the fire, her wet hair in a braid.

“Drink at the inn?” she asked, hopefully.

“Drink at the inn,” he agreed.

The Silver-Blood Inn was packed, and they squeezed around a table already occupied by Vorstag, Cosnach, Yngvar and Moth. Vorstag had just gotten back from a job, escorting a nobleman to Solitude, and he was telling a story about how the two of them had been set upon by skeevers, which spooked the nobleman’s horse, which charged through the back garden of a house in Dragon Bridge, right past an old man who was taking a bath outside his back door. Vorstag mimed the whole debacle, from the spooked horse to the terrified nobleman to the affronted old bather, shaking his fist at Vorstag as he hauled ass after his charge, and soon everyone was in hysterics.

Argis watched Valerie laughing and drinking in the inn’s dim light, loving the sound of her laughter, the sight of her smile, the way her body fit perfectly, pressed against his side. The dream he had had about her came to him again, where she had been so warm and soft, pliant and willing in his bed. This close to him now, she smelled amazing, like lavender and mountain flower. It would be so easy to put his arm around her, to bend his head and press a kiss into her soft dark hair. And she would turn and look at him with those lovely eyes of hers, and say—

“I think we should go home.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We should go home,” she said, enunciating over the noise of the crowd. Vorstag was onto a different story now, pretending to shoot something with an imaginary bow and arrow, and he wondered how long he’d been lost in his fantasy. “It’s getting late. We have to head out to Karthspire tomorrow, early.”

Karthspire. Right. The Blades. The World-Eater. And next to him, sipping her mead and looking at him expectantly, the Dragonborn. The reality of everything hit him at once, as he met Valerie’s gaze.

“Are you ready?” Valerie asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered her. Just like he had said in his dream, he knew that he would do anything she wished of him, knew that he would follow her anywhere she asked. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So full disclosure this is my first time writing anything remotely near this level of explicit-ness so hopefully it wasn't too terrible. From now on it's safe to assume that there will be more E-rated parts in future chapters, but I do plan on living up to the slow burn tag :)


	15. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into main quest territory now, so just a note for this chapter and future chapters: I won't necessarily be rehashing the story or cut scenes exactly. I plan on skipping over / summarizing quite a bit, mainly because, if you're reading this, you've played (or read) these scenes many times. For the most part, for the scenes that I skip (like getting through the temple in this chapter) you can assume that nothing major has changed, and if it has, I'll make it clear.

At Karthspire, there were more Forsworn than he’d ever seen.

The path up the mountain was overgrown, and they kept to the edge, wary of getting the attention of the dozens of Forsworn in the camp ahead of them. In the Legion, Argis had heard rumours of a massive Forsworn camp at Karthspire, but whoever lived there rarely ventured off the small island, and his garrison had been instructed to give the area a wide berth. The fact that he and Valerie, along with the two Blades they were meeting, were meant to fight their way through when the whole of the Reach’s Imperial soldiers were told to stay away... Well, it was discomfiting, to say the least.

He glanced at Valerie, her face frowning slightly as they climbed the steep path. Then again, he reasoned, the Reach’s Imperial forces didn’t have the Dragonborn fighting alongside them.

She saw him looking at her, and he gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned.

They met Delphine and Esbern on a ridge above the camp, bordered by some large rocks that gave them coverage from being seen. They both turned when they heard Valerie and Argis approach, and Delphine, a blonde Breton in leather armor, appraised them cooly, her pale eyes narrowed. Esbern, an older, balding Nord, was friendlier, and waved.

Valerie waved back.

Delphine nodded towards Argis, and asked Valerie, in a low voice, “He can be trusted?”

Valerie slid her pack off her shoulders, placing it near the boulders. He did the same.

“Yes, Delphine,” she said, her tone measured. “This is Argis, he’s my housecarl from Markarth. I’ve already told him everything.”

Delphine scowled and looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his scarred face. “You have too many friends, Valerie.” To Argis, she said, “You a soldier?”

“Was in the Markarth branch of the Legion for eight years,” he told her. “They called me the Bulwark.”

Delphine nodded. “Sword and board?”

“Aye.”

She eyed the Dwarven bow on his back. “Can you shoot?”

“Aye,” he repeated.

She gave him a little nod. “Good,” she said. She looked a little closer at his shield, staring at it appraisingly. “What kind of shield is that?”

“Dwarven,” he said. “Old.” He glanced down at Spellbreaker. It was as good a guess as any, and he certainly wasn’t about to announce that he was carrying around a Daedric artifact.

Valerie shifted beside him.

“Hmm,” said Delphine, but dropped the subject. She gestured him closer, and he walked over to where she stood. He was about a head taller than her, and had to duck a little to avoid being seen by the Forsworn below.

“We’ll attack from afar at first,” she told him. “Valerie and Esbern with spells. You and I will use bows. Once they start coming up the hill for us, you and I can meet them head on, give the two of them some breathing room behind us.”

He scanned the camp while she continued talking, nodding at she plotted out their attack and pointed out their end destination, the entranceway to Sky Haven Temple, at the far side of the camp. He could see two briarhearts from where they stood, one in front of a large tent off to the side, the other pacing in front of an altar at the far end. He deliberately kept from focusing on what was laying on the altar, but his skin crawled all the same.

“And I lead,” Delphine finished. “You listen to my orders, got it?”

Argis turned to face her. “With all due respect, Delphine,” he began, “I know you were a Blade, but I take orders from my thane, and that’s it.”

He felt the soft pressure of Valerie’s hand on his arm. “It’s fine, Argis,” she told him. “Delphine knows what she’s doing.”

He nodded, and Delphine looked at the two of them with narrowed eyes, her gaze flickering to Valerie’s hand resting on his arm.

“Good,” she said shortly. From her back she hefted a large Orcish bow. “Let’s do this. Ready your bow, Bulwark. You two, armor up. These assholes are in the way of that temple, and we’re getting in. Esbern, on your signal.”

Argis pulled his bow from his back and notched an arrow, hearing the now familiar noise of Valerie’s ironflesh spell, along with another one that must have been cast by Esbern. The old man raised his hand, fire gleaming in his palm. The spell shot towards the center of the camp, exploding in a fireball, and the fight was on.

They took out about a quarter of them from the ridge, and, as Delphine predicted, the Forsworn guards started to move back up the hill toward them. He followed Delphine down, glancing over his shoulder at Valerie, who was still shooting firebolt after firebolt, the storm atronach by her side. Esbern stood a few feet from her, also casting ranged spells; he had conjured a fire atronach, who pirouetted impatiently next to him in between bouts of shooting fire.

Delphine fought with a long sword in her right hand, slim and dark, with a slight curve, and entirely unfamiliar to Argis. In her left she held an elven dagger, which she swung with fierce intensity at anyone who came too close. She fought hard and methodically, with the precise attention of a decorated soldier. Argis fell into an easy rhythm beside her, the familiarity of a fellow combat veteran a welcome presence at his side as they made their way through the camp.

But he couldn’t deny that he missed Valerie’s style of fighting, the spells flying through the air, her hissed curses when she missed her targets, their scrambling panic as they tried to flee from her magic. The two of them fighting together were like a thunderstorm, Argis the steady center, moving them forward without wavering, and Valerie circling around him, dashing in and out with her magic, flinging fire and lightning, surprising their enemies.

It had been a while now; he knew that she must have come down from the ridge, she could never stay in place for very long. But he couldn’t see her ahead of him, couldn’t feel her near. This place was too big, and there were too many Forsworn—they just kept coming and coming…

A Forsworn ravager dropped to the ground in front of him, blood spraying from his mouth and the slice in his throat, courtesy of Argis’ Dwarven sword, and he took the opportunity to look around for Valerie. Firebolts and lighting bolts were streaking through the sky everywhere, but he couldn’t tell which were hers. He felt a prickle of worry.

“Where’s Valerie?” he called over to Delphine, who was going hand to hand against a dual-wielding Forsworn with war axes.

“Little busy here, Bulwark,” she called back, swiping at the Forsworn with her dagger and pushing her towards the edge of the pathway. The Forsworn hissed and spat, kicking out a foot, which Delphine dodged.

Esbern dashed past them. “She went east!” he shouted. His fire atronach trailed behind him, the ground scorching in her wake.

Argis fought his way east, dread rising in his stomach the further he made it without a sign from Valerie. Finally, he spotted her storm atronach, dueling with the briarheart he’d seen earlier, in front of the altar stone. By the time he’d made his way up the steps and over to them, Sparky was gone, a pile of crumbled rocks and dust on the ground, and the briarheart was twitching and blue, the empty hole in his chest sparking where the false heart had become dislodged.

Argis wondered briefly if he should leave the briarheart on the ground to suffer, but honor won out, and he separated his head from his body in one stroke of his sword. He reached over to pluck out the briar, for Valerie’s potions.

A dead giant lay on the altar stone, a gaping hole where its own heart should be, surrounded by vials and ingredients, piles of discarded fingers and rotting flesh. Flies had gathered. It smelled of the dead, the cloying scent of decay and rot.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something bright, speeding towards him. On instinct he held out Spellbreaker, and as the firebolt hit his shield, he felt the magic fizzle, then vanish entirely. He stood up, his shield still glowing, and turned.

“What a lovely toy you have there,” the creature called to him, her gray, gnarled talons still smoking. She clicked her mouth, the hole where a beak should be, her teary, rheumy eyes looking him up and down. “Shall we play some more?”

Argis breathed deeply, the bile rising in his throat. His hand closed on the sword, his other gripping Spellbreaker tighter. He had known the creature was there from the start, since he had seen the stone altar from a distance on top of the hill, since he’d smelled the rotting flesh.

_Hagraven._

He could do nothing but raise Spellbreaker and advance on her, moving forward slowly behind his shield. He could barely see over the edge, and he prayed he was going in the right direction. And then he knew that he was, because he could smell her, fetid and sick, death and decay and everything wrong.

Be a wall, he told himself. Hold your shield up, don’t let it get to you, don’t let it get through—

The hagraven cackled, moving closer. He moved to lift his sword arm, but it was so heavy, like he was underwater.

Be a wall, he told himself again, even as he felt his facade crumbling.

And then there was a lightning bolt, from behind him, and he heard Valerie cry out from far off, shrieking, “Get away from him!”

The creature hissed and they both turned, and Argis heard thunder in Valerie’s voice—

_“WULD!”_

—and she was impossibly right next to him, lightning arcing from her fingers, and he tightened his grip on his sword and returned to the fight.

The hagraven was no match for the two of them, although she died slowly, spouting nonsense at Valerie as she gasped her last breaths, calling her “sister,” tempting her with untold powers of magic. Her face twisted in revulsion, Valerie finished her off with one last lightning spell, this one so powerful it rebounded back, leaving Argis thankful he was still holding Spellbreaker.

“You all right?” Argis asked her, after she had been staring at the hagraven’s corpse a little too long for his comfort.

Still looking disturbed, Valerie nodded. “You?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Far off on the other side of the camp, he could see Delphine waving widely to them, Esbern by her side. The ground between them was quiet and motionless, littered with the bodies of the dead. He waved back, raising his sword in the air in acknowledgement. “Think we’re wanted over there. Guess that hagraven was the last of ‘em.”

They started to make their way down to the steps that led to the lower level of the camp, passing the dead giant and dead briarheart.

“Got this for you,” Argis said, pulling the briar out of his pocket.

Valerie’s fingers closed around his as she took it from him, smiling. “Thanks. These are great at restoring magic.” She slipped it into the little leather pack she kept around her waist.

“Figured they did something useful,” he said, and she laughed. “Thanks for… helping me out, back there, with the hagraven.”

“Of course,” she said. “We’re a team, Argis. You’d do the same for me.”

“Might not get there as quickly as you did, though,” he admitted. “What was that… that shout you used? _Woold_?” he asked, enunciating carefully.

She paused, then looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “You really want to know?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Her smile grew wider. “ _Wuld_ ,” she said, and he blinked, and she was a dozen feet away.

“Hey!” he called. “What the—”

“Sorry,” she cried. “Did I not say it clearly? _WULD_!”

Two dozen feet.

“Hey!”

_“WULD!”_

Three dozen feet.

“Hey, that’s not fair! Get back here, you—”

She shouted her way across the camp to Delphine and Esbern, and by the time he finally caught up to them, out of breath and cursing, but laughing good-naturedly, she was still giggling—the hagraven, for both of them, now forgotten.

***

“Delphine’s kind of a bitch.”

It was late, close to midnight, and they were in Sky Haven Temple, in the room that must have been the Blades’ barracks, once upon a time. The temple was dark, and damp, and felt as old and abandoned as it looked. But there were beds, and they didn’t collapse when they tentatively sat on them, so Argis claimed the one by the door and Valerie crawled onto the one near the fireplace. Having lit the fire with a spell, she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing in her journal, a little ball of magic light hovering above her head.

Now she frowned, not looking up from her writing. “You wouldn’t say that if she were a man.”

He stretched his legs out on the bed as far as he could, crossing them at the ankles where they hung off the edge. His hands behind his head, he stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Delphine and Esbern were both still out in the main room, inspecting the Akaviri carvings. He had no idea when, or if, they’d sleep. “If she were a man, she’d be kind of a dick.”

Valerie laughed softly at that, shutting her journal and turning away from the fire to look at him. The little ball of magic light blinked out. “That’s fair enough, I guess.” She sighed. “Delphine’s just… She’s just driven. This… It all means a lot to her. The Blades were her whole life, and she thought they were destroyed. And then she hears about the great Dragonborn, savior of Nirn, and gets… me. A Breton mage who dropped out of college and spent the last half a dozen years wandering around Tamriel. Real impressive, especially when I have to stand on a chair to reach the top shelf in my wardrobe.”

Argis laughed. “So is that why you keep me around?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “Argis the Bulwark, experienced soldier, weapons trainer and warrior, and honored housecarl and high-up-things-fetcher for the Dragonborn.”

He bowed as best he could from his prone position on the bed. “I am your sword, shield, and fetcher of high-up things, my thane.”

Smiling, she bent down, slipping her journal into her rucksack, where it leaned against the side of her bed. She rustled around a bit in the bag and pulled out a little glass jar.

“Are you going to keep that armor?” she asked him, twisting the jar open. “The Akaviri set, that Delphine offered to you?”

He watched her in the firelight as she started rubbing its contents into the palm of her hand, where she had cut it with her dagger to open the door to the temple.

“Think so,” he told her. Delphine had said the two of them could take any of the armor or weapons in the temple, and Valerie had come across a heavy armor set that looked like it would fit him. “Seems pretty strong. I’ll try it on tomorrow, test it out. Looks like there’s a training yard in the back, so I’ll see how it feels in action then.”

Valerie nodded, and the two of them fell into companionable silence.

Valerie’s hair was loose, and he watched as the firelight made it glow an almost reddish color. She was frowning a little, staring down at her hand. Earlier, the blood sacrifice, the strange puzzles, the huge stone carvings of the prophecy of the Dragonborn that had made them all awestruck and speechless—all of that had left him feeling odd, out of sorts. He knew that Valerie was the Dragonborn. He had _seen_ Valerie kill a dragon, absorb its soul; he had watched her breathe flames, heard the thunder in her voice. But in moments like this, when she was writing in her journal, staring into the fire, frowning as she inspected the scar on her hand, she was just… Valerie.

It was hard, sometimes, to connect the two.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice sounded loud in the silence of the room. “With that jar?”

“It’s just an oil,” she said. “Mostly blue mountain flower, some other ingredients. I use it for healing. It works really well at fading scars.”

He look a breath, licked his dry lips. “Does it just work on new scars? Or… or old ones, too?”

She glanced over at him and did that thing she did, where she stared at him in silence for a few seconds and made him feel like she was seeing inside of him, measuring what he said against what he really meant. “Do they hurt?”

He was grateful that she didn’t pretend. “Not really. Kind of… itch, sometimes, though.”

She patted the space next to him, on her bed. “Come here, Argis.”

He sat up, the wood frame of his own bed creaking, and made his way across the darkened room to perch on the side of her bed. He felt awkward next to her, big and clumsy, like his added weight would be enough to crush the old bed entirely and send them tumbling to the ground.

She took his right hand in hers, spreading his fingers open where he had unknowingly clenched them, holding his palm up. With her other hand she held the bottle in the air, tilting it to pour a couple small drops of oil onto his fingers.

He stared at his hand.

“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s best to press kind of hard on the scar.” She gestured at her face with her own hand, a motion too fast for him to catch. “Like in small circles. It helps with blood flow.”

Frowning, he took his fingers and swiped roughly at his cheek.

“Um,” Valerie said, sounding like she was trying not to laugh, “that’s not quite what I meant…”

He scowled, rubbing at his face with the side of his hand. “How do you know how to do this stuff?”

“From my mother,” she told him. “She was a higher class than my father, it was a big scandal when they married. Her family disowned her. But she still raised my sister and I like we were nobles, even though we were just merchant class. So that meant music lessons, needlepoint, etiquette, table manners… And no scars. Scars were not,” she continued, in a slightly mocking voice, “becoming of a lady.”

He thought of the tidy way she ate her food, the delicate way she moved, picking her skirt up as she walked. “Were you a model child?”

She laughed. “Not exactly. My sister was the good one. But somehow all my mother’s lessons stuck with me anyway, and here I am, toting vials of her healing potion all around Tamriel. And I chew with my mouth closed and moisturize before bed and say please and thank you and everything.” She held up the bottle again. “Do you want me to… I can show you, if you don’t mind?”

Swallowing, he shook his head, and she stood up and stepped in front of him. Her hand reached out, tilting his jaw so she could see him in the firelight.

There were three scars on the left side of his face. The first was right under his blind eye, a vertical line down his cheek. The second was the biggest, running parallel to the first, along the edge of his nose. The third was the smallest, cutting through his mouth, just off the center.

He could forget that they were there, most of the time. And he tried. He had scars all over his body, so many that he had lost count, and he hardly thought of them at all. But the ones on his face… They were different. Sometimes they would twinge, like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. And then there was the way some people looked at them, like they couldn’t see anything else…

He felt Valerie’s thumb brush against the biggest one, the one in the middle. The expression on her face as he looked up at her was unreadable. She pulled her hand away for a second, then brought it back to touch his face again, wet and slightly warm from the oil. Pressing firmly, she rubbed small circles into his skin.

“You gonna ask how I got them?” His voice was gravely, rougher than he had intended it to come out.

Her fingers paused for a second, then resumed. “I thought you’d tell me when you wanted to. _If_ you wanted to,” she corrected.

“Most people ask about them right away.”

She let out a little laugh. This close to his face, her breath tickled his cheek. She smelled like lavender and mountain flower.

“Not sure if you noticed, Argis, but I’m not most people.”

He smiled, but stayed silent. He knew she could feel his smile under her hands.

She moved up to the top scar, the one under his eye.

“Close your eyes,” she told him, quietly, and he obeyed.

When people asked about his scars, depending on who they were, and how they asked, he had a few stock answers. A sabre cat was the easiest, inviting few follow-up questions. Sometimes, if the man—and it was always a man—was bragging about his own scars, he said his were from a Dwemer trap, from the ruins underneath Markarth. If he wanted to be funny, he said they were from a spurned lover, or that he cut himself shaving.

When children asked, he told them he had stolen a sweetroll from a baker and got a handful of knives thrown at his face for his trouble.

“It was a hagraven,” he told Valerie. It was the truth, and he hadn’t told it in years. “I was on a patrol. We took down a briarheart, but we didn’t know the hagraven was there. She started throwing fireballs at us. I held my shield up and moved in to get closer, but when I did, she...” He made a swiping gesture with his hand.

She hummed under her breath. “Well, that explains a few things.”

“Like?”

“The look of absolute terror on your face when I told you I was a mage, for one.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, making it creak.

“And you seemed a little off, earlier, when I saw you fighting the hagraven at the camp outside.”

“Haven’t fought one since,” he admitted. “I was more frightened than I thought I would be.” They both had the same foul, fetid smell, of death and rot and evil, and it had transported him back instantly, to the night almost a decade ago, when he thought himself strong enough to go up against a hagraven alone and nearly paid for it with his life.

“Yeah, they’re pretty terrifying. Whenever I fight them they try to talk me into becoming one of them. I don’t know what’s scarier, fighting a hagraven or picturing yourself turning into one.”

He thought of the hagraven they had fought earlier, how she had called Valerie “sister” as she died.

“Besides,” she continued, “hagravens can carry—”

“Brain rot,” he said. “Yeah. That’s what happened. I passed out, woke up a couple days later in my old bed at my mother’s house in Black Mountain. They thought I was as good as dead, so they sent me home… Took me almost a month before I could walk again, near to half a year before I was back to normal. Never saw out of my left eye after that, though.”

She paused again. He could hear her breathing. The fire crackled behind her. His eyes were still closed, but he got the impression she was studying his face in the firelight.

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” she said, finally, in a quiet voice.

Me too, he wanted to say, because I wouldn’t have met you. But she had started to trace the scar on his mouth, and he kept silent.

“All done,” she said softly, after a minute. “It’s a little late to do anything about the way they look, but if you put this on them every couple of nights, it should take care of the itching feeling. Hopefully they won’t bother you as much.”

Argis thought of when he first met Valerie, on the stairs to Understone Keep, when she had looked at him with her dark eyes, no pity in them at all as she took in his scars. He thought of how she had asked him, surprised, standing outside Ghorza’s shop, why he didn’t want to wear a helmet, as if she’d forgotten entirely that he was half blind. And he thought of how she had waited weeks without asking what had happened to him, to his face—how even tonight, when tempted by the information, she still waited for him to speak, to tell her his story without pushing.

“Feel better already,” he said, his voice rough. He wanted to say so much more, but…

“Good,” Valerie said. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smile. “Tomorrow, after you test out the new armor, we’ll head back to Markarth. I bet we can catch a ride with Ri’saad’s caravan to Whiterun, and then we can head south, to Ivarstead, and see what the Greybeards have to say about that dragon shout.”

As much as he tried to be excited about finally leaving the Reach, to see the open plains of Whiterun, the famous forests of the Rift—to see High Hrothgar, for Divines’ sake—there was a part of him that thought he’d never be happier than he was right here and now, in this dank, abandoned temple, with Valerie next to him, her hair glowing in the firelight, her gentle hands on his face.

“Yeah,” he said, instead. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: a version of this scar scene was actually the second scene I wrote for this story, after the very first chapter. It has been patiently waiting to find a home since and wound up fitting nicely here :) 
> 
> Also, I noticed that someone had tagged this story with a "Modern Girl in Skyrim" tag and I wanted to be clear that this is *not* a modern girl in Skyrim storyline. (Not that there's anything wrong with that :) ) Valerie is still holding a few cards close to her chest, because I don't want to give everything away at once, but everything she's told Argis so far - and therefore, told the reader - is true.


	16. The Road to Whiterun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for fantasy drug use in this chapter. (AKA, Argis gets high.)*

The day they were meant to leave Markarth for Whiterun, Argis woke at dawn. He got ready quickly, packing the things he’d need in his rucksack, which didn’t amount to much: some spare clothes, an extra dagger, and the book he was reading, _The Mirror_. When he was done, he pulled his coin purse from his chest—it was much heavier than he was used to—and made his way into the living room, where he dropped his bag next to the table and the coin purse on top of it. He pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from a cupboard, and leaned over the parchment, thinking of what to write. He settled on:

_Ma,_

_Been made housecarl to a new thane. Lots of travel, may be hard to get your letters. Will write when I can._

_DON’T WORRY!!!_

_Love to Alma and Maeri. Tell Jofnir not to fall into the forge._

_Love,_

_A_

_PS—There should be 782 septims, make the courier WAIT this time while you count it all!_

He rolled the parchment tightly, then tied it, writing his mother’s name across the edge so she’d know if it’d been opened. He tied it again, to the strings on the heavy coin purse, then headed out of the house, to the courier stand by the city’s front gates.

His errand didn’t take long, but by the time he returned, he could hear Valerie rustling around in the kitchen.

“Hello?” she called, as he made his way up the entryway.

“Just me,” he called back to her.

She popped her head around the doorway to the kitchen. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

“Courier,” he said.

“Ah,” she said. “Want to help me put some food together?”

They packed up some food that would last the journey. It was only a couple days, and Valerie assured them that the Khajiit would feed them and there would be plenty of provisions in Whiterun besides, but—“I know how hungry you get, Argis.”

He laughed, embarrassed.

Valerie seemed to have packed her entire wardrobe in her rucksack. She swayed a little under the weight when she tried to hoist it onto her back, and Argis sighed, then took it from her. He rearranged their bags so that she had an easier time lifting hers.

“Just how many spellbooks do you need to bring with you, Valerie?”

“Shush,” she said, grinning. “Mister I-Packed-Two-Entire-Wheels-of-Cheese.”

Argis grumbled good-naturedly, turning for the door.

“Wait, Argis, before we go—I have something for you.”

Out of the side pocket of her dress she pulled out a necklace, an amulet set with a dark red stone on a silver chain, and two silver rings.

“What is this?” he asked, as he took the jewelry from her.

“I made them for you,” she told him. “The necklace has a double fire and lighting resistance enchantment on it. It’s stronger than the ones you’re wearing now. And the rings will help you recover your health and stamina faster.”

“Hey, thanks,” he said, genuinely surprised. “Was this what you’ve been working on these past couple weeks, when you were in the enchanting room?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you… Are they ok?” She sounded a little nervous.

“Yeah,” he told her. “Yeah, Valerie, they’re great. Thank you, really.” He pulled off his other two necklaces, replacing them with the new one, and slid the two rings onto his left hand, so they didn’t get in the way of his sword. He flexed his fingers, testing out the feel of them, while Valerie watched intently.

“Do you want these back?” he said, holding out the two older necklaces. When she had first handed them to him, he had been terrified of her magic. It had only been a few weeks ago, but so much had changed for him since then—he wondered how much, if anything, had changed for Valerie, too.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, making her wild hair bounce around her shoulders. “They’re yours. You keep them.”

He slid them into the front pocket of his bag, then hefted it onto his shoulders and walked with Valerie down the entryway.

“You gave the spare key to Vorstag?” Valerie asked, as he locked Vlindrel Hall’s heavy bronze door behind them. Vorstag had promised to look in on the house while they were away.

“Yeah,” he told her. “We’ll probably come home to him passed out drunk on the kitchen table, but nothing should be stolen, at least.”

She laughed, turning to head down the stairs. He took in one last view of the Reach from their front steps—the scraggly juniper trees, the pale stretches of grass, the seemingly endless stretch of rocky mountains—and followed her.

***

The Khajiit were nearly done loading up their cart by the time they reached them. The eldest—Ri’saad, Argis recalled—drove the horse, offering Valerie a seat next to him in the cart, which she accepted. Argis wound up walking in the front of the group, next to a female Khajiit in steel armor called Khayla, who acted as the group’s bodyguard. She wasn’t much of a talker at first, which Argis didn’t mind, but eventually her curiosity won out, and she asked him about his armor, and his shield. He kept his answers simple but truthful, saying that he and Valerie had found the Akaviri armor in an old temple, and that they’d come across his shield after delving into a Dwarven ruin. He asked her about what weapons she preferred, and soon they were talking companionably about the benefits of steel plate armor over steel, whether the strong impact of a warhammer made up for its slow swing time, and whether elves or orcs made the best arrows.

Khayla was telling him about the first time she’d killed a giant when he looked at his surroundings and realized that they were no longer in the Reach. The pale grass and gray rocks had given way to open plains, the road to their right bordered by lush evergreens. He’d never seen trees that tall.

“We’re in Whiterun Hold,” he said, amazed.

“Yes,” said Khayla, amusement her raspy voice. “The caravan crossed the border, perhaps half an hour ago.”

He looked behind himself to Valerie, who was watching him and grinning from her place on the cart, next to Ri’saad. “I was wondering when you’d notice!” she called.

He turned back, gesturing to Khayla to continue her story. He listened, unable to keep the smile from his face, watching as the road to Whiterun opened up in front of him, wide and unknown and wonderful.

They stopped around lunchtime. From the back of the cart, Atabah, an older female Khajiit who Argis suspected was Ri’saad’s wife, pulled out an assortment of dried fruits and meats, along with cheese and some small, hard rolls. Argis sat on a large flat rock a few feet away from the cart, watching. He had eaten some of the food he’d brought with him already, but he was still pretty hungry.

After a few minutes, Valerie came over, holding two of Atabah’s sandwiches and an apple. She gave the apple and the larger of the sandwiches to Argis, then sat next to him on the rock.

“Thanks,” he said. He opened up his sandwich: cheese and some of the dried meat, which Argis thought was venison. Valerie’s looked similar.

“Why didn’t she give us any of the dried fruit?” he asked Valerie, under his breath, so the Khajiit didn’t hear.

“They dry theirs with moon sugar,” Valerie answered. “It’s too strong for humans.”

“Oh,” said Argis, disappointed. It had looked like Atabah had some dried cherries, which Argis loved. He hadn’t had them in years, since the last time Faleen had been sent a bag from Hammerfell for her birthday. She had been generous and shared some with Argis, knowing how much he loved them; hers, however, had obviously not been dried with moon sugar.

He saw Atabah watching them, and wondered if she had heard his question. He smiled, holding up his sandwich in thanks, and she nodded before turning away to eat with Ri’saad.

“I worked on a moon sugar farm,” Valerie said. “Did I tell you about that?”

“No,” he said, surprised. “You told me about when you lived in Elsweyr, but not that. I thought you worked for an alchemist, in one of the markets?”

“That too,” Valerie said. “But first I was at the moon sugar farm, for oh, about… three weeks? A plantation along the southern coast. It was pretty boring. We had to farm the moon sugar by moonlight, and the bugs that came out at night practically ate me alive. And the farm only paid room and board, and the tiniest bit of money, so I didn’t stick around very long. After that I went to Senchal, where I met the alchemist and she took me on as an apprentice.”

It seemed astounding to him that she’d been to every country in Tamriel, and here he was, several years older than her and leaving the hold he’d been born in for the first time. He told her so.

“Mmm,” Valerie agreed. “Well, no time like the present.” She’d finished her sandwich and stretched out on her back on the rock, soaking up a patch of sun and looking for all the world like—present company excluded—a very satisfied cat. “I’ve not been to the Summerset Isles, though. They don’t let you in unless you’re an Altmer. And I never made it to Solstheim.”

He was pretty sure he had no interest in going to either. “Maybe one day,” he told her, around a mouthful of apple.

She smiled at him, her eyes closed. “Maybe.”

Ri’saad called them over a few minutes after that, and they got back on the road, Atabah taking up the spot that Valerie had vacated. Argis brought up the rear, a few feet behind Valerie and Ma’radru-jo, who seemed to be some sort of mage. Argis tuned them out after they started a deeply animated conversation about restoration spells, content to walk without saying anything, taking in the scenery. He ate some of his cheese.

They passed a group of Imperial soldiers on patrol, and a farmer taking a painted cow as an offering to a giant, which he saw from far off, herding enormous mammoths. The only trouble they ran into was a small cave bear, which Khayla took care of with her sword and Argis finished off from a distance, with an arrow. She raised her hand to him in thanks.

As the sun started to set, Ri’saad pulled the caravan off the road, to an area of worn and flattened grass that seemed to be their usual camping spot. The Khajiit began to unpack their tents from the caravan, and Valerie went over to talk to Ri’saad for a few minutes, before returning to Argis.

“It’s so nice out, I said that we’d just sleep by the fire. Do you mind?” she asked. “I feel like we should take advantage of this weather before the cold sets in.”

“Course not,” Argis said. The sky was clear but the night was warm, and it would be nice to look at the stars and feel the breeze on his face.

Dinner was beef stew, which Atabah made in a giant pot that she hung over the fire. Argis and Valerie helped to cut the onions and carrots. While it cooked, they all sat around the fire and Ri’saad told a story of how, as a younger Khajiit on the road to Windhelm, he and his caravan fended off an attack of pale, blind creatures, the size of men but with terrible, twisted faces.

“In all my years, I have never seen such monsters,” Ri’saad concluded. “And I have never seen them again. Were it not for the sacrifice made by our brave guard Bisha, I would have thought the whole thing a nightmare of Vaermina’s making. But this one will never forget these creatures.”

The rest of the Khajiit seemed to have heard the story before, and Argis sensed Ri’saad was telling it for his and Valerie’s benefit, so he paid attention politely. But Valerie seemed disturbed, frowning with her arms crossed over her knees as she sat, staring into the fire.

She stayed deep in thought as they ate dinner, and afterwards, he watched as she had a distracted conversation with Ma’radru-jo, then excused herself to sit alone a few feet away, writing in her journal.

“The big Nord warrior likes the little sweet ones, yes?”

“What— I, uh, what?” Argis stuttered, turning his head. Atabah was beside him, a small box in her hand. He wondered how long he’d been staring at Valerie.

Atabah smiled, shaking the box at him. “You like the sweet ones?”

Blinking, Argis looked into the box and realized that she was offering him some sort of candy. There were about half a dozen pieces in the box, plump and round, with a flat bottom. In the firelight they looked dark, but they sparkled with something sprinkled on top. Moon sugar? Maybe Atabah had overheard him earlier, asking about her dried fruit. “Uh,” he said. “Thanks. I can… I can eat this?” He was pretty sure she wasn’t trying to poison him, that he wouldn’t eat one and wake up naked, stripped of his possessions and tied to one of the big evergreen trees, the caravan long gone—but still…

Atabah nodded, holding up one finger. “Just one. It is good. You will relax. Go, take!”

He hesitated, his finger hovering over the box, and Atabah shook it again. “Take! And one more. For the iiliten! Go, give it to her. Go, go!” He didn’t know what an iiliten was, but she nodded toward Valerie as she said it.

“All right, all right—” Argis muttered, plucking two of the candies from the box before she could yell at him again. He hurried away from the determined Khajiit, to the other side of the fire where Valerie sat with her journal.

He stood in front of her, holding his hand out. “I uh… I’ve been instructed to eat this. And to give one to you, too, apparently.”

Valerie closed her journal, taking a look at his proffered palm. “Ooh, moon sugar candies. It’s been a while since I had one of these…” She took one from him, her fingers brushing against his hands. “You sure you want one?”

He sat down next to her on the grass, inspecting the sweet. “What’ll it do to me?”

Valerie shrugged. “Not a lot, honestly. There’s barely any moon sugar in these, they just sprinkle a tiny bit of it over the top, diluted with regular sugar. It usually just makes me feel a little relaxed, and then a little happy—and then I fall asleep. You might have a hangover in the morning, though.”

Argis frowned, moving his hand so the little candy rolled around in his palm. “It’s not skooma?” He knew that skooma was made from refined moon sugar, and he couldn’t help but think of the dozen or so people that he’d known in Markarth who had lost themselves to the drug, and what it had done to them.

“Very, very far from it. But you don’t need to eat it if you don’t want to Argis, it’s fine.”

“If I eat it, and someone tries to attack us—”

“Khajiit guards your back.”

Argis jumped, swearing, as the raspy voice came out of nowhere. Khayla was right next to him; he hadn’t even heard her sit down.

Valerie laughed. “Khajiit is sneaky,” she admonished her.

Khayla grinned, her teeth sharp and even. “They never see this one coming.” To Argis, she said, “This one will take watch, with Ma’radru-jo. You are safe, with Khajiit.”

Argis’ frown deepened, still unsure as he weighed his decision. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Valerie very casually pop the candy into her mouth.

Fuck it, he thought. He ate his.

It was delicious, dark and sugary and heavy. The outer layer melted in his mouth, giving way to a rich liquid that tasted like sweet wine on his tongue, flavored with—

“Cherries,” he said, in amazement. “This tastes like cherries. I love cherries.”

“Mmm,” Valerie agreed. “I’ve never had a cherry one before.”

Across the fire, Atabah caught his eye. “Is good?” she called.

“Good!” he called back, and she grinned.

When the candy had melted away, he sighed, disappointed. He took a quick mental inventory of all his important parts. “I don’t feel any different,” he said to Valerie.

“It takes a while. Give it time,” she told him. She was unpacking her bedroll from her bag, laying it out next to the fire.

“Should I eat another one?”

“ _Definitely_ not,” she said.

He shrugged, and, for lack of anything else to do, pulled out his bedroll as well, laying it down a few feet away from her. He noticed that, at some point in their conversation, Khayla had snuck away to the other side of the fire, leaving as quietly as she had come.

He rested, staring up at the sky with his hands behind his head as it grew dark and the sounds of the Khajiit talking around the fire faded. The fire was behind him, warm against his back, and he didn’t feel the need—or have the energy—to look and see if they had all gone to bed, or if anyone was keeping watch. He had a firm, certain belief that they were safe.

The stars came out one by one. He watched them blink and twinkle at him. It was the beginning of autumn, now, but unseasonably warm. He wondered what it would be like to camp in the snow, if he remembered enough of his Legion training to build a lean-to that would keep Valerie safe from a blizzard. He wondered what she would look like with snowflakes in her hair, in her eyelashes.

In the northern part of the sky, a band of light started to break through the darkness, opening up into a shimmering rainbow of color. It grew bigger, slowly taking over half the sky as he watched.

He had seen the aurora before, in the Reach and from the top of the guard tower in Markarth, but something about the open sky in Whiterun Hold made it seem huge, awe-inspiring. He had never seen anything so beautiful. He had to show Valerie.

He turned to look at her, feeling muzzy and slow. She was lying on her stomach, paging through a spellbook, reading by the light of the fire.

“Hey,” he said to her.

She turned her head to look at him, her dark eyes glimmering. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

He gave her a slow, lazy grin. “Goooooood.”

She giggled. “I’m glad.”

He pointed at the sky. “Look.”

She closed her book and wriggled onto her back, gasping as she caught sight of the aurora. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “Wow.”

“Am I really high right now,” Argis asked, “or is that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

She giggled again. “Both, I’d say.”

He realized, as he looked at her, that he was wrong about the aurora, that no rainbow in the night sky could ever be as beautiful as the woman lying next to him.

Gods, this moon sugar stuff makes me sappy, he thought, smiling again. Or maybe he just continued smiling; he wasn’t sure he had stopped.

He watched her watch the aurora, wondering if he should tell her how beautiful she was. “Valerie,” he said. Her name sounded funny on his tongue, so he said it again. “Valerie.” Now he couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to tell her in the first place, so he said her name a third time, trying to mimic the way she spoke. “Vahhl-airrr-eee… Vahhl-airrr-eeeeeeee...”

“Yes, _Arrr-giiiiis_?”

“I…” He blinked. “I don’t know what your family name is.” It hadn’t been the question he wanted to ask, he thought, but now that it was voiced, it seemed very important.

“Hmm.” He watched her stretch her arms out, slowly, then folded them behind her head, the same way he was still laying. She turned to look at him. “It’s Greensmith.”

“Sounds like a Nord name,” he told her, confused.

“Mmm hmm. Might be. It’s very old, maybe even Atmoran. My father thought that it maybe meant that his ancestors were carpenters.”

“I like it,” he said. He tested it out. “Vahhl-airrr-eee _Grrreeen_ -smith.”

“I do _not_ sound like that,” she said, laughing and sounding exactly like that. “Now, tell me _your_ family name, Argis the Bulwark.”

“You’ll laugh,” he told her.

“I will?” She sat up, in her eagerness. “Is it terrible? It’s Bog-Trotter, isn’t it? _Please_ tell me it’s Bog-Trotter.”

“No!” he protested. “It’s not. It’s not terrible, either, it’s just… very… apt, given the situation.” He paused. “It’s Strong-Shield.”

“Oh,” said Valerie. “Oh.” She laid back down.

He sighed. “Go ahead.”

She dissolved into giggles. “It’s funny because… because you’re my housecarl… Get it? Strong… shield? Because you’re so strong… And… and you have… you have a shield, you know?”

Against his better judgement, he started laughing, too. “I know I have a shield. You _got_ me this shield. Remember, the Bosmer mage, and all those people who puked on us?”

“Ohhhh _yeahhhh_ …”

Gods, why was everything so _funny_?

“So... So why do they call you The Bulwark, then?”

He stopped laughing, took a breath. “Just a nickname, from the Legion.”

She stopped laughing, too. “You... You don’t want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, looking determinedly up at the night sky. “Nah. Not now.”

“All right,” she said, her voice quiet. “Then… what should we talk about, instead?”

He swallowed. “Tell me… Tell me about somewhere you traveled to, that you loved. Tell me what it was like there.”

“Hmm,” she said. He heard her shifting, and saw that she’d pulled her bedroll up to her waist, to cover herself against the night air. “Let’s see. Well, I loved Hammerfell. The shore there is so beautiful, and the sand is so warm during the day. And you can take your shoes off and go out into the ocean, and these little fish in all different colors come up to your legs and swim around you. Sometimes they bite at your toes, but it doesn’t hurt, it just kind of tickles.” She yawned. “And they have this fruit that grows on the trees there, huge and round, as big as a cabbage, but hard on the outside. You cut it in half and there’s juice inside, that you can drink. It’s delicious, like… like…”

She yawned again. The wind blew over them, cooler now that it was dark.

“And you can just lie on the beach and listen to the waves, and the breeze is so... nice…” She trailed off.

“And what about Skyrim?” he asked her, after she was quiet for a moment. He looked up at the aurora. Did Hammerfell have that, too? “Do you like it here?”

No response.

“Valerie?” He turned to look at her, but she’d fallen asleep, her head tilted toward him, her dark hair falling into her closed eyes.

He reached over, tugging her bedroll up to her chin.

“Goodnight,” he said, quietly, and resumed looking at the stars.

He had read somewhere once, a long time ago, that the stars were holes into Aetherius, left by the Gods when they fled the world. He wondered which one of the stars above him was a window into Sovngarde, where his ancestors feasted and drank, singing battle songs and telling tales of courage and bravery. He wondered if they watched him, and what they thought of him and the life he’d lived.

He wondered again, as he had time after time, where his father’s soul was, whether it was in Sovngarde with its hall of heroes, or wandering Aetherius, doomed to drift for eternity.

Or maybe it was here on Nirn, still haunting him after all this time, for what he’d done. 

He sighed. The wind blew chillier now, and he pulled his bedroll up to his chest. The stars seemed harsh, cold and empty, and the soft, happy feeling the moon sugar candy had given him was long gone.

He turned on his side, and watched Valerie sleeping by the fire, until his own eyes closed and he fell asleep.

***

He dreamed.

He dreamed of battle, of fighting, of a Forsworn attack, just him and his sword and shield against them all. They were huge, taller than him, bigger and stronger, but he fought them and they fell. Each one that died was replaced by a new one, and they kept coming, and he was so, so tired, and he was alone.

He kept fighting.

Ashes rained down on him and his surroundings, blanketing the Reach like snowfall. At his back, the ghosts of his father and the village dead whispered, lost and afraid.

_Be strong. Be a wall. Hold your shield up. Hold the line. Protect us._

_Protect her!_

He woke up with a gasp, terrified and blinded by the darkness. He thrashed against his bedroll, his heart pounding, until he caught sight of Valerie, sleeping a few feet away from him, peaceful and calm and alive.

In the dark, a pair of feline eyes glinted.

“Rest, rasiniit. She sleeps safe.”

Exhausted, he collapsed into his bedroll, and fell back asleep without dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The khajiit words in this chapter come from a website called The Ta'agra Project. Argis doesn't know what they mean, so I won't tell you, but you can look them up if you so desire :) 
> 
> Also, some good news and bad news: The bad news is that I've caught up to the end of the chapters that I've already written for this story, which means it'll probably be longer between updates from now on. BUT the good news is that I have the whole rest of the plot planned out and outlined, and guys, it is SO LONG. Haha. 
> 
> You can subscribe if you want to get alerts for when I post the next chapter! And please please please comment, leave kudos, bookmarks, whatever - it is so, so encouraging :)


	17. For Those With Courage

“Argis… Argis…”

“Mmpf,” he mumbled, pushing his face into the pillow. “Don’t wanna.”

“Argis…” A soft laugh and a hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. “Come on now, Argis, you need to get up. We’ll be leaving soon.”

He turned his head, blinking in the bright light. Crouched next to him, silhouetted against the backdrop of the early morning sun, was Valerie.

“Mmpf,” he said again. He realized the pillow under his face was just his bedroll; underneath, the dirt. He raised his head, looking around. Nearly everything from their night was packed away, the tents gone, the fire out and smoking gently. The sky was bright and clear, the air breezy, with a slight chill. He was the only one still asleep.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. He wanted to do nothing more than crawl back under the covers, preferably in a real bed. His head was aching, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. “Don’t usually sleep that much.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just a side effect of the moon sugar. You’ll feel better soon.” Valerie held out a small potion to him, a slim green vial. “This’ll help.”

“How are you so chipper?” he mumbled, taking the stamina potion and drinking it gratefully.

Her eyes flashed, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Last night wasn’t exactly my first time, Argis.”

He could feel his face redden at her wording, and he turned away to finish the potion as she stood up, heading over to speak to Khayla. After standing and stretching, he packed his things quickly and joined the others by the wagon. Ri’saad, perhaps taking pity on his still groggy condition, patted the empty seat next to him on the wagon’s bench.

“You sure?” Argis asked, looking up at the older Khajiit and shading his eyes from the morning sun, so bright it was almost blinding.

Ri’saad laughed, soft and raspy. “Even I am not so old as to forget the first time I overdid it on moon sugar, my friend.”

Argis climbed up, feeling slightly awkward and embarrassed, but not enough to pass up the chance to rest and close his eyes against the sun for a bit longer.

Ri’saad proved to be a pleasant traveling companion, letting Argis recover from his moon sugar hangover in silence. The two rings Valerie had given him, to recover his health and stamina, were both pulsing with a steady glow. The stamina potion helped, too, and once he was sure he could bend down without feeling nauseous, he rooted around in his bag for the last of the cheese he had brought.

“Ah,” said Ri’saad, once he had seen what Argis was eating. “Yes. Cheese always makes one feel better, don’t you think?”

Argis nodded, his mouth full.

“I myself have always been partial to a nice Elsweyr fondue,” Ri’saad continued. “Have you had one before, my friend?”

Argis shook his head, swallowing. “Can’t say I have.”

“Valerie can make one,” Ri’saad told him. “Atabah taught her how, after we saw her kill a dragon on the way to Markarth, and she ate two pots of the fondue and all of our bread afterwards.”

Argis laughed, though it still hurt his head a little to do so. “Sounds about right.” He had suspected the Khajiit knew that Valerie was the Dragonborn; Ri’saad’s description of her post-soul-devouring appetite had confirmed it.

“Perhaps she will make one for you one day, my friend,” Ri’saad told him, pleasantly, and Argis got the impression that he was hinting at something, although he couldn’t put his finger on what.

When he and Valerie had eaten at Vlindrel Hall, the two of them had split the cooking duties relatively evenly. Valerie was better at the meat—he had a tendency towards overcooking—and made better sauces. Most of her sauces were flavors he’d never tasted before; nearly all of them were spicier than he was used to. She kept small jars of spices from all around Tamriel in their kitchen, and occasionally the couriers would drop off deliveries to add to her collection. To his eternal shame—he had sworn Valerie to secrecy, even though she just rolled her eyes—some of her cooking was so spicy for him that he needed to drink a glass of milk with dinner, instead of mead.

He was better than her at making bread, though, and even fairly decent at other baking, especially when he had an actual kitchen like the one in Vlindrel Hall. He had made hardtack for their trip—now in a tin at the bottom of his rucksack—from a recipe he had learned in the Legion, and some crostatas and sweetrolls, which he’d learned from his mother. Last week he’d made a snowberry crostata which made Valerie close her eyes and moan decadently when she bit into it; he’d had to put his napkin in his lap and mentally recite all the types of metals, from weakest to strongest, iron to ebony, until he was able to form a coherent sentence again.

“Perhaps she will,” Argis agreed, partly to have something to say and partly to get the memory of Valerie moaning out of his mind. She was walking ahead of the cart now, with Khayla, and he was starting to struggle to keep himself from being hypnotized by the sway of her hips.

He closed his eyes. “Never fucking eating anything with moon sugar in it again,” he muttered.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he did, and Ri’saad laughed and laughed.

About an hour later, his headache gone and his libido under control again, he could just make out the spires of Dragonsreach in the distance. Below it sprawled the thatched roofs of the houses and shops of Whiterun, hugged by a gray rock wall that, although impressive, had seen better days. Dotted throughout the open plains surrounding it were small farms, windmills turning slowly in the breeze.

It was beautiful.

“That’s… that’s… Wow,” he whispered, giving up on finding the words.

Ri’saad looked over. “Ah, yes. Whiterun, and the great Dragonsreach, the crown jewel of the city. I have heard that it was built to house a dragon, captured by an ancient king. But I do not put much stock in these old tales, necessarily. A king who would build a cage of wood for a dragon is... not a very smart king.”

Argis raised his eyebrows. He had heard that legend too, but never questioned it. “Huh. Never thought of it that way.”

“Valerie tells me that there is an old dragon skull above the jarl’s throne, however,” Ri’saad continued. “So perhaps I am wrong. And perhaps one day I will be allowed within the city’s walls to see it myself.”

Argis cringed. Here he was, salivating over Whiterun while Ri’saad and the rest of the caravan were forbidden from entering, forced to camp on the cold ground when tonight he’d be warm in a bed. _Idiot_ , he thought.

“It’s not fair,” Argis said, decisively. “I’m sorry. If I were the jarl, I’d let you in.”

Ri’saad laughed loudly at that, as if he’d told him a particularly good joke. “Ah, my friend,” he said. He let go of the reins with one hand to clap Argis on his shoulder. “If only it were so simple. But,” he added, “you are a good man, to say that to me.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the cart creaking as the caravan made its way slowly down the road, closer and closer to the city.

“I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to stay in a country that made it clear that it didn’t want me,” Argis admitted. “Do you ever think about… going back?”

Ri’saad sighed. “Of course. We are far from home, yes. And this land is cold and hard, in more ways than one. But the wise trader finds the best opportunities, even if he must travel far to find them.” He paused, and Argis could sense the Khajiit looking at him. He stared down at his hands. “The dragons and the war may have scared many other traders away, but... for those with courage, there is much profit to be made. Do you know what I am saying, my friend?”

For those with courage… His gaze drifted to Valerie. “I think so.”

They were drawing close to a lone watchtower, crumbling and broken. As it approached on their right, Argis realized that it must have been the watchtower where Valerie killed her first dragon, where she had absorbed its soul and was told by a guard that she was the Dragonborn. His chest tightened a little, imagining it—Valerie, new and inexperienced at fighting, just days away from fleeing Helgen as it burned, facing a huge, monstrous dragon, scared and alone—

He was shaken roughly from his thoughts when Ri’saad pulled on the reins, hard, stopping the horse, who shifted from side to side, its ears pricked up in confusion. Ahead of them, Khayla had paused, her hand on her sword, staring at something in the ruins of the watchtower. Beside her, Valerie’s face flashed with grim determination as she opened her hand, warding herself with her ironflesh spell.

The first arrow pierced Khayla in the throat, and she dropped to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.

Valerie screamed and Argis leapt from the cart, launching himself towards Valerie, who was now on her knees next to Khayla, both of her hands glowing with the pale light of a healing spell at the Khajiit’s throat.

“Argis,” Valerie called. “They’re in the watchtower. They’re—”

He turned, holding Spellbreaker up so that he was protected from the windows in the crumbling tower. Not even a second later, an arrow bounced off the shield.

Valerie cursed behind him. “I can’t leave Khayla!” The Khajiit was still alive, but her eyes were wide and dilated with panic, her teeth bared in pain. Valerie pulled one bloodied hand away from Khayla’s throat long enough to try another spell. Argis saw the purple glow that meant an atronach, but it fizzled out and Valerie shook her hand, cursing again. “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, come on…” One more try and Atty materialized before them, pirouetting in a circle of flame. Valerie returned her hand to Khayla’s throat.

“I can only manage Atty,” she said. “Take her. She won’t be very strong, but—”

Another arrow hit his shield. “Get that fucking archer,” he growled at the atronach, and to his surprise, it obeyed him, turning and swooping toward the watchtower, a fireball already forming in its hand.

“Stay safe,” he said to Valerie, and with one last glance at her, kneeling on the ground, he shouted a battle cry and took off at a run towards the tower.

His boots thudded against the soft grass as he closed in. The archer had taken one look at Atty and fled, and the atronach was now chasing him, gaining on him as he scrambled for the copse of trees behind the tower.

“One down,” Argis whispered. He heaved himself up onto the broken stone scattered at the base of the tower and headed toward the door.

A Redguard woman blocked the doorway, dressed in old, mismatched fur and studded armor, wielding an iron sword and a wooden shield. Snarling, she came at him, but he blocked every thrust of her sword, scoring hit over hit on her through her worn protection. The way she fought reminded him of Faleen’s style, hard and fast and precise, with quick, small strokes of her iron sword. But he was stronger, and soon she was on her knees before him, panting.

She was bleeding from cuts on her arm, her side, and a small one on her face, just under her eye. He stared at her, breathing hard, and she stared back, her face rough and worn. Her hair was cut short, shaved to the scalp on one side. He wondered if she had studied the same school of fighting Faleen had back in Hammerfell, what had happened in her life to take her from the warm shores of the south and turn her into a bandit in the frozen north of Skyrim, attacking innocent merchants on the road.

He bent down, pressed his sword to her neck. “Yield,” he said. “Say you yield and I’ll let you live.”

She bared her teeth at him, several of them missing, all the rest rotten. She spat at his face. “Die,” she hissed. “Nord pig.”

He cut her throat and wiped his cheek, walking away before he saw her fall.

“Two,” he whispered. He headed up the crumbling stairs. Bandits were rare in the Reach, thanks to the heavy presence of the Forsworn, but every so often he and Vorstag would come across them, shivering at a weak fire, raiding an overturned cart. They usually traveled in groups of three, so he knew there was at least one waiting at the top of the tower for him.

There was. He was an Imperial, tall and wiry, with an elven greatsword that was undoubtedly stolen, pilfered off a dead Thalmor patrol. He fought well but had no strength—Argis could see that he was sick, his skin a sallow, yellow color—and the fight was over much quicker than his battle with the Redguard woman.

“And… three.” He pulled his sword from the Imperial’s chest, noticing the bruises and sores along his neck. He wondered if he had lost on purpose.

Frowning, he wiped his sword on some moss that had grown on the side of the tower, then looked over the edge. From his high vantage point he could see the body of the archer, burnt and smoking. He hadn’t even made it to the treeline. Sighing, he turned away and headed down the stairs, past the still body of the Redguard woman, and out onto the grass.

The rest of the caravan and Valerie were gathered by some of the broken stones, a little off the side of the road. Khayla was sitting up, the arrow from her throat removed. The skin where it had pierced her was red and shiny, missing its fur, but she was talking, and didn’t look to be in too much pain. Valerie was still kneeling at her side, now rustling around in her bag, pulling out various bottles of potions. He buckled his sword back to his side, his shield behind him, securing it safely.

“All the bandits are dead?” asked Ri’saad, leaning against the rock near where Argis was standing.

Argis nodded. “Aye.” Counting the archer that Atty had taken care of, three bandits were dead, and he hadn’t seen, or seen signs of, any others.

Ri’saad sighed. “We are in your debt, Argis the Bulwark.”

Argis shook his head. “No debt. It’s my job.”

“A cold and hard land, indeed. My friend—”

But whatever Ri’saad was going to say was cut off as another bandit sprung from the rock behind them. He was a Nord, huge and tall, heaving a carved warhammer and covered head to toe in scars and rusty armor.

“Never should have come here,” he growled, advancing on Ri’saad. “You’ll make a fine rug, cat.” He pulled his hands up, and swung.

Later, Argis would think of all the things he could have done. He could have pulled out his shield, his sword, his bow. He could have shouted for Valerie, who would have been at his side an instant, or taken care of the bandit in less than a second with a lightning bolt or a shout. He could have done a better sweep of the ruined tower in the first place, to make sure that they were alone, and that all the bandits were dead.

Instead, he leapt in front of Ri’saad, and took the full force of the blow on his chest.

The Akaviri armor made a dull clang as the warhammer hit home, right over his heart. As he fell to his knees, gasping, everything erupted into chaos around him. Someone was screaming, and he saw lightning flash, heard the grind of metal against metal. He couldn’t stay upright, and he hit the ground, rolling onto his back.

Someone screamed again, his name this time. _Valerie_ , he thought.

It hurt to breathe. He blinked, and had trouble focusing when his eyes reopened. Someone was kneeling next to him, holding their hands out. No—he thought, blinking again. Not hands, paws. Glowing with the pale light of a healing spell—

 _No_ , he tried to say, but his mouth wasn’t working right, and it came out rough and slurred. “Nnnn…”

“No, no! Don’t— He doesn’t want—” Ma’radru-jo was shoved away, and then Valerie was by his side, her arm under his head, gently lifting him so he could drink the healing potion she was holding in her other hand.

“It’s all right,” she told him, smiling. Her voice trembled and her hand shook despite her words, spilling a little of the potion down his chest. “You’re fine, everything’s fine, just drink…”

With each swallow of the thick, sickly sweet liquid, Argis felt his breath coming easier, lighter. The rings Valerie had made for him pulsed on his left hand. When the potion was done, he sat up, bracing himself on one hand, and took a deep breath.

“Ri’saad,” he said, when he could talk. “Is he— Where’s—”

“I am here.” The old Khajiit parted the crowd gathered around him, and reached down to clasp his shoulder. “I owe you my life, my friend.”

Argis shook his head. “I should have checked, I shouldn’t have assumed they were all dead, I…”

“It’s fine,” Valerie repeated. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Everyone’s fine, thanks to you.” She let go of him, her fingers brushing against the huge dent in his chestpiece. “Thank the Divines for Delphine and her armor, right?” She shook her head. He saw that her eyes were shining with tears. “Gods, Argis, I… What am I going to do with you?”

He swallowed, and, not wanting to be the cause of her tears any longer, said, “Pay to get my armor fixed?”

She laughed, a wet, happy sound, and brushed at her face with her hands. She tugged on his chestpiece. “Come on. Let’s get this off you, and we’ll go see Danica when we get to Whiterun.”

She unbuckled it slowly, easing the front piece off and helping him shrug off the rest, along with the thin tunic he wore underneath. They both winced at the sight of the skin, raw and red and already purpling with a bruise under where the warhammer had made contact.

“You’ll need to take it easy for a few days,” Valerie said, her voice still a little shaky. Her hand hovered right above his chest, as if she wanted to touch him, but didn’t. She pulled her hand away, staring everywhere but at his face, and he got up and followed her to the cart.

It took them about an hour to get to Whiterun’s gates. Ri’saad and Ma’radru-jo shoved some things around in the back of the cart, so he and Valerie and Khayla could ride inside it. It was good to be off his feet, but vaguely uncomfortable, pressed next to Valerie without his shirt or half his armor, as the wagon bumped along the road. After a few minutes, he got his spare tunic out of his bag and pulled it over his head, which made him feel a little less awkward.

Every so often he’d catch her staring at him, then looking away. He wished he could ask her what she was thinking, but he got the impression that she wouldn’t tell him, not the whole truth, anyway.

He watched the road get smaller and smaller behind them.

When they got to the gates, they jumped off the back of the caravan. Valerie landed lightly in the dirt, holding her skirts up, and he thumped down next to her. As she pressed some more potions into Khayla’s hands, Ri’saad motioned him over to where he was standing near the horse, holding a long object wrapped in a cloth.

He passed it over with both hands. From the feel of it underneath the material, Argis could tell that it was a sword. “Do not say no, my friend. You do more than your job, in many ways. Let me reward you, at least—a small token for saving an old Khajiit’s life, when others in this land would gladly see me dead.”

Argis just nodded, staring into the depths of the Khajiit’s eyes, unable to find the words to form a response.

He took the sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little on the short side, but it didn't really fit with the next chapter, which is halfway done and already a monster :)


	18. A Warm Bed

The Whiterun guards at the gate all knew Valerie, and welcomed her back enthusiastically, with calls of “How do you do, thane?” and “Whatever you need, Dragonborn!” She smiled and said hello to all of them, stopping for a minute to talk to one who pulled out an iron sword and asked a question about enchanting it.

After assuring the guard that she’d need to use a grindstone to sharpen her sword and not an enchanting table, Valerie steered Argis over to a smithy on their right.

“Sure are friendly here, huh?” he said, as they walked toward the door. He was used to the silent glowering of the Markarth guards. Although they weren’t the happiest bunch, at least you could walk ten feet without being pestered.

“You have no idea,” Valerie laughed. She pushed the blacksmith’s door open and entered, Argis following behind.

But before he could shut it, another guard stepped up to the door, so close he seemed like he was going to walk right into the shop after them. “Hail, summoner!” he called to Valerie. “Conjure me up a warm bed, would you?”

Valerie’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“She’s busy,” said Argis, and slammed the door in the guard’s surprised face.

Behind the counter was a muscular, bearded man, who lit up once he recognized Valerie. “My second-favorite warmaiden!” he said. “Hope you’ve brought me something interesting! Where have you been, anyway? Haven’t seen you in months.”

Valerie laughed. “Oh, you know. Here and there.” She gestured to Argis. “Ulfberth, this is Argis the Bulwark, my housecarl from Markarth.”

Ulfberth held his hand out, which Argis took, shaking it as he looked around at the weapons on the walls and the counter. He noticed Ulfberth studying his gauntlets.

“Well met, brother,” Ulberth said, looking back at his face. “Everything you see here was forged by my beautiful wife, Adrianne.”

“Looks great,” said Argis, honestly. He took a closer look at the swords and shield hung behind the counter. “Your wife does excellent work. My sister’s a smith, too, up in her village north of Markarth.”

“Really?” Ulfberth said, sounding both surprised and pleased. “You don’t get many women who are blacksmiths, unless they’re orcs, of course. What’s her name? Maybe we’ve heard of her.”

Argis shook her head. “Her husband runs the forge these days, she mostly takes care of my niece and my mother. But her name’s Alma, Alma Strong-Shield. Her husband’s Jofnir War-Anvil, from Windhelm.”

“War-Anvil?” Valerie interrupted. “Any relation to Oengul War-Anvil?”

Argis nodded. “Think that’s his uncle. Why, you know him?”

Valerie frowned. “Not really. I met him briefly the last time I was in Windhelm. He called me a milk-drinker, then refused to talk to me.”

“Sounds like Jofnir’s family, all right,” said Argis.

Shaking her head, Valerie turned back to the man behind the counter. “Ulfberth, I was wondering if Adrianne could fix Argis’ armor. It met the wrong end of a warhammer earlier this morning.”

Ulfberth nodded. “She’s up at Dragonsreach, with her father, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to when she gets back. Let’s have a look.”

Argis pulled the damaged Akaviri chestpiece out of his rucksack, dropping it on the counter in front of Ulfberth.

Ulfberth just blinked, for a moment, taking in the Akaviri armor—and the huge dent. Then he whistled and looked up at Valerie, grinning. “You have been off on an adventure, haven’t you? I thought those were some unusual gauntlets your man was wearing. I’ve never even seen this type armor before, Adrianne is going to go through the roof. What have you been doing, girl?”

Valerie just gave him a little smile and shrugged, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Argis. “Just some exploring.”

After saying goodbye to Ulfberth, they walked through the town to see Danica, who Valerie explained was the healer and priestess at the Temple of Kynareth in the center of the city. Valerie pointed out some of the landmarks—an inn, a couple of houses—and they walked by a small, square home with a pointed roof. It looked well-maintained, with some pruned bushes by the front door and a recently-swept front step.

Valerie paused outside, motioning to the door. “This one’s mine. Breezehome. I know it’s not much, but… when I bought it, it was the first real home I had in years.”

Behind the line of the roof, Argis could see the Throat of the World, rising in the distance. Like he had when the caravan had passed the watchtower outside Whiterun, he thought of the Valerie he’d never met, from more than a year ago, confused and afraid and alone in a new land.

He reached out, giving the wood of the little house a few pats. “Feels nice and strong to me,” he told her. “It’s a good house. You chose well, you should be proud of it.”

She smiled at him, pleased. “I am.”

They kept walking, cutting through a busy market full of vendors who waved and called out greetings to Valerie. A dark-haired girl ran up to give her a quick hug, then dashed off again. They followed the girl up some steps to a leafy garden, circled by benches around a small sapling with pink flowers, then Valerie steered him off to the left, where they stepped into the Temple of Kynareth.

Danica poked and prodded at him as he sat on a bench in the temple, Valerie explaining to her about the bandit with the warhammer. The air was heavy with the smell of lavender. He grit his teeth and stared at the ceiling, trying not to pay attention to the fact that he had two women gawking at his naked chest.

“I could just heal it for you, you know,” Danica told him, exasperation in her voice.

“No, thank you,” Argis said, trying to be polite. “We done?” He reached for his shirt.

Danica shook her head, sighing. “Nord men. Stubborn as oxen. Yes, we’re finished here. Just be sure to take it easy for a day or two, like your thane has told you, I’m sure.” She turned to Valerie. “Come, Thane Valerie—I have a new book that you might find interesting.”

Valerie followed her further into the temple, and Argis picked up their bags and called out that he was going to wait outside. He felt a little guilty for being so stubborn, but not guilty enough to let someone use magic on him. He knew that, at its core, a healing spell wasn’t much different from a healing potion, but his pride wouldn’t let him give in.

It didn’t matter, he told himself, as he sat down on one of the benches. Valerie didn’t mind that he refused healing spells, and that was more than enough for him. He didn’t care what anyone else thought, priestess or no.

He stared at the small sapling in the center of the garden, wondering if it had any special significance to be displayed so prominently. Whiterun, the little he’d seen of it so far, at least, seemed so different than the towns he knew in the Reach, but it was lovely, all the same. The leafy birch trees, the square little houses, the friendly people… Some of the guards were a little over-familiar, but… He could like it here; he could get used to it. He breathed deeply, tilting his head up, enjoying the open sky, the clean, crisp air.

“Hello,” said a small voice next to him. He turned, startled. There was a little blonde girl in an olive green dress sitting on the bench beside him. She looked like she was about his niece’s age.

“Uh… Hello,” he said back. “I’m Argis. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lucia.” She stared openly at his face. “Did something hurt you?”

The honesty of children. “A long time ago,” he told her. “But I’m fine now.”

She nodded, looking serious. “That’s good. Are you Valerie’s husband? I saw you go into the temple together.”

The noise that came out of him was strangled, half a cough, half a laugh. “No, no, I’m not her… I’m not her husband. I’m just her housecarl. You… you know Valerie?”

“Of course!” She smiled at him. “She restored the Gildergreen,” she said, nodding at the sapling. “And she got a mammoth tusk for Ysolda, and got Amren’s family sword back from bandits, and went into the catacombs in the Hall of the Dead to find Andurs’ lost amulet! And she found me a place to live, in Jorrvaskr, so that I didn’t have to sleep on the ground behind the inn. _And_ she kills dragons!” She paused. “Did you know that?”

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Some of it.”

He heard the sound of Valerie’s necklaces tinkling as she walked over to them. She was holding a book with a gold cover, hugging it to her chest with one arm. “Hi, Lucia,” she said. “How are the Companions treating you?”

The little girl jumped up, running to give Valerie a quick hug, which she returned. “Great! Vilkas is grumpy, but everyone else is nice. Kodlak is helping me with my reading, and I shot arrows with Aela! Tilma says my sweetrolls are getting much better.” She released her. “I’m going to go play with Mila now! Bye! Bye, Argis!”

“See ya around,” Argis called, watching her dash down the stairs to the market. He looked over at Valerie. “Friend of yours?”

“You could say that,” she said. She walked towards him, the hem of her dress twirling, and sat next to him on the bench. She held the book on her lap.

“New book?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm,” Valerie said. “Danica said it had some information about restoration in it that might come in handy for me, help my healing spells get stronger. Healing Khayla earlier was pretty difficult—it took a lot out of me.” She stroked the cover, lightly, but made no move to open it.

They were quiet for a few moments, staring at the sapling, letting the breeze blow through the trees around them. “That little girl was really sleeping on the ground outside the inn?” he asked, finally.

Valerie nodded. “I saw her begging here, by the Gildergreen, a few months back. I couldn’t… I couldn’t _not_ do something. She’s young still, but it’s only a few years before… well. You know what happens to girls who grow up begging on the streets.”

Argis frowned.

“A couple of my friends are Companions, so I convinced them to take her in, to help out their maid, Tilma. She’s still healthy, but she’s getting on a bit, so I thought she could use the extra pair of hands. I guess it’s working out all right—better than having her on the street, anyhow.” 

“Why am I not surprised that you’re friends with the Companions?” Argis asked her.

She bumped her shoulder against his, smiling at him. “On my way to Whiterun for the first time I helped a few of them kill a giant on a farm just outside the city. Probably would have joined up with them, too, but they don’t take mages.” She pointed through the trees, to a long building that Argis hadn’t noticed before. “That’s Jorrvaskr, right over there. I’ll introduce you to them later, if you want. Maybe you can see the Skyforge, too.”

Like most Nord children, Argis had grown up on stories of the Companions, their strength and bravery, and of their hall, Jorrvaskr, the overturned Atmoran ship where they feasted and drank after their battles. And as the son of a smith, his father had spoken about the Skyforge in reverent tones. When Argis and his sister were young, he had even traveled to Whiterun a few times to learn from the man who ran it.

Up close, though, Jorrvaskr looked smaller than he had pictured it, a little worn and weather-beaten, with holes in the ship’s hull that was now the building’s roof. He wondered if the Skyforge would be more impressive.

“Sounds good to me,” said Argis. “Maybe I’ll write to Jofnir about it, he’ll be so jealous that with any luck, he’ll drop the tongs on his foot again.”

Laughing, Valerie stood and, tugging on his wrist, pulled him up as well. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to the house, I’m done with errands for the day. Lydia will probably have some extra food we can eat. I’m starving.”

He followed her as she stepped down the stairs. He had forgotten all about Lydia, and a little pit of discomfort was forming in his chest. It was stupid, he knew, to feel awkward about meeting another housecarl—if anything he should be grateful to her, for the job that she did keeping Valerie safe when he wasn’t around. But there was something in the way Valerie talked about her sometimes, something a little like regret in her voice, and he wondered again why she stopped using her services, left her alone in Whiterun while she adventured across Skyrim with a mage and an orc and some red-headed kid who, based on what he could put together, was barely old enough to grow a beard.

Outside Breezehome, Valerie paused by the door to dig around in her bag for a key. She pushed it into the lock, jiggling it a little bit before easing the door open.

“You can come and go as you please when we’re here,” she said. “It’s safe enough in Whiterun, so you don’t have to follow me—”

She opened the door further, and Argis caught a glimpse of a small, dark living area with some wooden shelves and cupboards, an unlit fire pit in the ground and a wooden staircase to a second floor—and then there was a dark-haired Nord woman flying down the stairs, tying a robe around her waist and wearing very little underneath it, looking for all of Nirn like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“My thane,” she said, her voice coming out a little too quickly, “I didn’t expect you! I…”

“Lydia, were you still sleeping?” Valerie asked her. She dropped her bag on the ground by the door, and Argis did the same. “It’s the afternoon!”

“I…” said Lydia. “No, I… I didn’t realize you’d be home today!” Her dark eyes flicked from Valerie to Argis, and then to the stairs behind them.

Valerie’s confused expression turned delighted. “Lydia, do you… do you have someone _upstairs_?” She looked like she was about to burst out laughing. “You do, don’t you? Lydia!” She put her hand over her mouth, then removed it, and leaned closer and said, in an eager, exaggerated whisper, “Who is it?”

“I…” began Lydia. She looked terrified. Argis wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like Valerie looked like she was angry—

Then from upstairs, a rough, deep voice called out, “Lyds? Everything ok down there?”

For just a moment, Valerie looked shocked, her eyes flashing with an emotion that Argis couldn’t name. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but something a little sad, like regret.

“I’m so sorry,” Lydia whispered. “It… it just kind of happened. We were trying to think of a way to tell you…”

Valerie forced a smile. “Lydia, it’s fine. It’s fine, really! I’m happy for you guys, I…”

“Lyds?” called the rumbling voice from upstairs again.

Argis watched Valerie’s face, trying in vain to figure out what was going on. The guilt on Lydia’s own features made him think that she had done something terrible, that this man upstairs meant something to Valerie, but… That was impossible, he told himself. He knew her. They had talked so much in the few weeks since they’d met, he had shared more with her than he had thought himself capable of. The thought that she had someone in Whiterun, someone she cared about… No, he thought. She would have said something. She would have told him.

He watched, his heart sinking, as Valerie forced a smile again, and then shouted, loudly, toward the ceiling. “Put your pants on, Farkas! You’ve got company!”

***

A little while later, Farkas sat, thankfully with his pants on, in a seat next to Argis in front of Valerie’s unlit fire pit. They both stared at the coals, saying nothing. From upstairs, the low sound of Valerie and Lydia talking carried through the wooden floorboards in the ceiling. The wind blew outside, rattling one of the wooden shutters.

“Little chilly,” Farkas said, eventually.

“Yep,” said Argis.

“Could light the fire,” the other man suggested.

“Yep,” repeated Argis.

Neither of them moved.

Finally Farkas let out a sigh, leaning forward a bit and running his hands roughly through his dark hair. “So,” he said, turning to look at Argis expectantly.

It was rare that Argis met anyone who was as big as he was. His build was large, even for a Nord man, and including his own father, who he knew he took after, he could count on one hand the times he’d come across someone who was his physical equal.

Staring at Farkas, he realized he’d need to add a second hand to his count.

The man was huge. There was no other way to describe it. He was as muscled as Argis was, potentially even bigger, with messy black hair, dark warpaint on his face, and pale gray eyes that were now blinking at him, waiting for him to say something.

“So,” Argis said. “You and… Lydia.”

“Yeah,” Farkas said. He glanced to the side, smiling to himself, like he couldn’t believe it. “Me and Lydia.” He looked back at Argis. “You and… Valerie?”

“No,” Argis said, shaking his head. “We’re not… we’re just... I’m just her housecarl.”

“Ah,” Farkas said, nodding. He sat back in the chair, which creaked under his weight.

Argis swallowed. “And you and… you and Valerie?”

Farkas nodded. “Yeah. A few times.” He looked up at the ceiling, frowning, and Argis saw his fingers twitching. Was he… was he actually _counting_? “A lot of times,” he corrected.

“Oh,” Argis said, not sure what the proper reaction to this news was that didn’t include leaping out of his chair, lunging for the other man and punching him in the face repeatedly.

“But not for a long time. And we were just friends,” Farkas added, amiably. “It was just sex. Just friends, just sex, no complicated feelings. She told me that, the first time, so I said it was fine.” He shrugged. “Then she said that we shouldn’t have sex anymore, because she was going to be away a lot, so I said that was fine too.” His face scrunched up, thinking. “That was… almost a year ago, I think.”

Argis let out a breath, his shoulders sinking in relief. “Oh,” he said again. That was all right. He could handle that, as long as he didn’t think too hard about the sad, strange look on Valerie’s face, when she recognized his voice coming from Lydia’s bedroom upstairs. “And you and Lydia…”

Farkas nodded. “That was just sex too, in the beginning. After Valerie left, we got to talking, one night, at The Bannered Mare. One thing led to another and… You know. But now I love her. And she loves me.” He grinned at Argis. “She told me she did, and we weren’t even fucking when she said so, so I know she meant it.”

Argis envied Farkas—not because he had slept with Valerie, he told himself, but because he seemed to be the kind of man who took things as they came to him and made the best of it.

He wished his own feelings were that uncomplicated.

“That’s a good way to tell, I guess,” Argis said.

“A good way to tell what?” asked Valerie, coming down the stairs behind them. Both men turned and stood. Lydia, now dressed in steel armor, followed behind her.

“Nothing,” Argis said, quickly, before Farkas could answer the question in his straightforward manner. “We were just wondering about food. Are you hungry, Farkas?”

Farkas, looking a little confused, nodded, then, abruptly shook his head. “Can’t. Initiation ceremony at this afternoon for the new Companions recruit. I should head over there, help them get ready. Should be starting soon.”

“Initiation cere—” began Valerie. “Is it Erik? Did he make it?”

Farkas nodded again. “His trial was last week. He did well. Didn’t even lose it when he saw me—” he stopped abruptly.

“Saw you…” prompted Valerie.

“It’s a secret,” said Farkas, and gave her a big grin.

“All right…” said Valerie, slowly. “Well… Can we come? To the ceremony?”

“It’ll just be for the Companions,” broke in Lydia. “But maybe, Farkas, if you can convince Vilkas, you can take the celebrations over to The Bannered Mare afterwards, and we can meet you there?”

Farkas nodded again. “I can do that. I think.”

After Farkas left, Argis waited outside while Valerie had what she promised would be a “really quick bath” in the kitchen—“I still have Khayla’s blood all caked under my fingernails,” she announced, “I really need to scrub myself.” He settled down on the steps outside, ready for a long wait. It went a lot faster than it usually took Valerie to get ready, though—Argis could hear Lydia hurrying her along impatiently—and they finally emerged from Breezehome, Valerie smelling like wildflowers, her hair piled on top of her head.

“Shall we?” she asked him. She tugged at the leather that held her hair up, and it fell to her shoulders, wild and dark. She was wearing the long green dress, the one she had on the first time he saw her. It had little flowers embroidered on the bodice. Her necklaces, newly re-fastened, were starting to tangle together already. He felt an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with that morning’s warhammer, and fought the urge to pull her toward him, to take her into his arms and press his face into her hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia giving him an odd look.

He stood up, brushing himself off. “Let’s go.”

He followed Valerie and the scent of wildflowers up the road. Lydia walked behind him, staring at his back the whole way.

The inn wasn’t that busy, with just a few patrons drinking around the long wooden benches surrounding the fire pit. There was a man in a horned helmet who glared at them when they walked in, and a blond bard, banging half-heartedly on a drum, who took one look at Valerie and retreated to the kitchens.

“Thane Valerie! Welcome back!” A Redguard woman with an impressive scar on her face waved to Valerie from her place near the bar, where she was sweeping the floor.

“Hello, Saadia!” Valerie called back, and turned back to Argis and Lydia. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Lydia led Argis to a table in the corner of the inn. “So,” she said, as he settled himself into the wooden chair, “How was your journey?”

“Not bad,” Argis said. “We traveled with a caravan. Killed a bear, fended off a few bandits. An old Khajiit woman yelled at me until I ate some of her moon-sugar-laced candies. The usual.”

Lydia cracked a smile, nodding. “Guess you met Atabah, then.”

“Yep.” He looked around, wondering where the barmaid was. He felt in desperate need of a drink, if only to have something to do with his hands, to help him feel a little less awkward.

Valerie was speaking with the innkeeper now, an older Nord woman with reddish brown hair. She was bent low, leaning over the bar to talk to Valerie, glancing around them, while Valerie nodded seriously.

The barmaid, Saadia, walked up to their table, holding two tankards of ale, one in each hand. “First round’s on the house,” she told them, and Argis raised the mug to her in thanks. “Thane Valerie will keep Hulda occupied for a while, so I might even get a five minute break.” She stared back toward the bar. “Apparently there’s some sort of secret love affair happening between one of the Gray-Manes and one of the Battle-Borns. Hulda’s been so bursting to talk about it she can barely keep her smallclothes on.”

“Ten septims says Valerie gets to the bottom of it in two days,” said Lydia.

Saadia shook her head. “I never bet against a sure thing,” she said, and took off, heading towards the kitchens.

“The Battle-Borns and the Gray-Manes have been sworn enemies ever since the war started,” said Lydia, conversationally.

“Huh,” said Argis, looking down at his mug. The love affair of a couple of strangers didn’t really interest him.

“So,” Lydia said, trying again. “It’s good to have Valerie home.” She drank some of her ale.

Argis frowned, feeling a little petulant at her words. This wasn’t Valerie’s home, he told himself. Markarth was her home, Vlindrel Hall was her home. He thought of the many times she’d called it that with him, and all the times they’d sat reading in front of the fire, cooking in the kitchen. All the times he’d heard her door creak open in the morning, her bare feet padding on the stone floor as she headed for the kitchen in that pale tunic she wore to sleep in, the one that was too big for her and was always slipping off her shoulder.

No matter how many guards who greeted her here, how many little kids who ran up to her for a hug—no matter how nice it was to sit on that bench beside that little tree and feel the wind and look up at the open sky… Whiterun wasn’t her home anymore, he thought, trying to convince himself, and failing.

“Any idea how long you’ll be staying? Where are you off to next?”

Although Argis knew that Lydia was aware of the fact that Valerie was the Dragonborn—all of Whiterun seemed to be aware of it—he wasn’t sure how much of Valerie’s plans he should divulge.

“Probably shouldn’t say. Not sure how much Valerie wants getting around.”

Lydia blinked at him, her dark eyes confused. “But I wouldn’t do anything, to… to… sabotage her, or… I’m her _housecarl_!”

The words came out before he could stop himself. “Then why are you here in Whiterun, fucking her ex-lover, instead of traveling with her and protecting her like you’re supposed to be?”

Lydia’s mouth fell open. “ _Excuse_ me?”

He gripped the handle of his mug hard in his fist. He took a drink. “You heard me.”

A look of fury passed over Lydia’s face. She slammed her own mug down on the table and leaned in close, her voice low and angry. “Listen to me, you great big fucking oaf. Valerie chooses who she travels with—not me, and definitely not you. And I have been Valerie’s housecarl for more than a year, all right? More than a fucking _year_. How long have you known her? A month? A couple of fucking weeks? If you knew her at all, you’d know that she’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions _and_ taking care of herself. Who I fuck, and for that matter, who _she_ fucks, is absolutely none of your business.”

Argis snarled. “Don’t you talk about her like that!”

Lydia gave him a mocking laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re a big fucking gentleman, aren’t you? You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her? You think I didn’t catch you staring at her tits earlier, when we left Breezehome? Listen to me good, Argis the fucking Bulwark—I may be Valerie’s housecarl, but I’m also her friend. And if you fuck up and she gets hurt because you’re too busy thinking with your cock instead of your brain, I will personally hunt you down and cut your balls off with the axe of fucking Whiterun.”

He stared at her, stunned. “I’d give my _life_ for her,” he said, incredulous. “I’d never let her get hurt.”

“Yeah, well.” Lydia glared at him, then glanced over to the door as a rowdy noise filled the inn. “Good luck with that.” She stood up. “Companions are here. See you later.” She shot down the rest of her ale in one go, then slammed the empty tankard on the table and walked away.

Valerie, of course, choose that moment to turn up. “Hello,” she said. “Where’s Lydia off to? You two getting along?” She took Lydia’s just-vacated seat and smiled, looking at him expectantly.

“I… I guess,” Argis said, at a loss for words.

Valerie sighed. “Good, I was a little worried. She can be kind of testy sometimes, but her heart is in the right place. I really want you to be friends, I…” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You’re both very important to me.”

He tried to smile at her, but it came out like a grimace.

“And... speaking of friends…” Valerie began, rising to greet someone. In a moment, she was enveloped in an enthusiastic embrace from a tall, wiry man with long red hair. He was so excited to see her that he bounced on his feet, reminding Argis of an overgrown puppy.

“Valerie! It’s great to see you again!” the man exclaimed. His voice was light, eager, happy. “It’s been too quiet without you around.” He paused. “Are we going on another adventure?”

Valerie laughed. “Not unless celebrating with you lot for the rest of the night counts as an adventure. Congratulations, newest Companion.” She tugged on one of his braids. 

His face turned almost as red as his hair. “Aw, it was nothing. Kill a draugr or two, recover a fragment of an ancient artifact. You could have done it in your sleep, I bet.”

“No thanks,” she laughed, and turned him, angling him towards Argis. “Argis,” she said, “this is—”

“Erik,” Argis acknowledged. “You must be Erik.”

Erik grinned, showing a strip of white, even teeth. He thrust his hand out, grabbing Argis’ and pumping it enthusiastically. “From Markarth, yeah? Great to meet you. Hope Valerie’s not been giving you too much trouble.”

He shook his head, detangling his hand from Erik’s grip. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He glanced at Valerie, who raised her eyebrows.

“Has she shown you the atronach yet? Nearly pissed myself the first time I saw her fire lady thing, I’d never seen anything like that before! It’s so cool, right? Hey, has her aim gotten any better? You know, one time she threw a firebolt that nearly singed my hair off—”

“Erik,” Valerie interrupted. “Erik, I’m standing right here.”

Erik laughed, throwing his head back. “Whoops! Didn’t see you there. I almost forgot how tiny you are.” He put an arm around her shoulder, which she shoved off, grumbling good-naturedly.

“Well, if you’re done making fun of my height and my terrible aim,” Valerie announced, “I’m going to go find a drink and say hello to Aela.”

“See ya later,” Erik said cheerfully, and sat down across from Argis in the empty seat. “She taught me everything I know,” he said, fondly, as the two of them watched her push through the now crowded inn. “Not about weapons, obviously, but about fighting, and not fighting.” He stared at Argis, his face open and earnest. “You know, she told me once that being brave isn’t about not being afraid, but about how you act when you’re afraid.” He shook his head, raising his tankard and taking a swig. “Or something like that, I’m a little drunk already.”

Argis found, to his surprise, that he liked Erik very much. He and Valerie clearly had a relationship more like a big sister and little brother than anything romantic, and his innocence and eagerness was infectious. He realized that he was smiling, despite the encounter with Lydia still lingering in the back of his mind.

He leaned forward, getting closer to Erik, and gripped his tankard in his hand. “Tell me more about her terrible aim,” he said, and grinned.

They talked for over an hour. Erik had grown up on a farm in Rorikstead, and had been fighting with his father about leaving to become a mercenary when Valerie turned up. She’d convinced his father, gotten him a set of armor and proceeded to drag him along to dungeon after dungeon, tomb after tomb, teaching him how to fight draugr and bandits and vampires and mages and dragons, healing him whenever he got hurt. In the beginning it was near constant, but as he got better with his weapon—a glass greatsword, which they’d found amongst some grave goods and Valerie enchanted—he found that he was protecting Valerie more than she was protecting him. When they were last in Whiterun, she’d introduced him to Farkas, who’d invited him to try out for the Companions—

“And here we are,” Erik finished, smiling. “I owe her everything. Who thought I’d be a Companion? Me, Erik the hoe-pusher. Erik the cabbage farmer.”

“Funny, the places that life takes us,” Argis acknowledged.

Erik sighed. “I just wish she could join the Companions too,” he said. “But they don’t—”

“Take mages,” Argis filled in. “She said.”

Erik nodded. “Stupid, right? Magic is so useful! We fought so great together. I thought it was the coolest thing from the moment she showed me her first spell, didn’t you?”

“Uh,” mumbled Argis. “Not exactly…”

“It’s ‘cause of Vilkas,” Erik said, nodding towards a table at the other side of the inn. “He’s Farkas’ twin brother. Hates mages, something about necromancers and his parents. But that’s not Valerie’s fault, though! She’s nothing like a necromancer! She’s a mage, but she’s a good one. And she’s the freaking Dragonborn, for Divines’ sake!”

Argis followed Erik’s gaze to a man who looked nearly identical to Farkas—smaller, but still plenty strong. He was sitting with his back to the wall, so he could have a view of the whole inn from his seat. He was glowering—and, Argis realized, staring back at him. He found himself averting his eyes from his strong gaze. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stood up.

“He’s the Harbinger?” He could still feel the man’s eyes on him, and shuddered.

Erik shook his head. “No, that’s Kodlak. He’s not been very well lately, so he’s in Jorrvaskr, resting. Vilkas is just the master at arms, but you have to beat him in a fight in order to get into the Companions, and he won’t let you use magic, so…”

“Ah,” said Argis.

“Vilkas is… Vilkas is…” Erik was frowning, still staring across the room. He seemed unbothered by Vilkas’ eyes on him. “He’s a strange one.” He turned back to Argis, grinning. “But I’ll get him to laugh one of these days. I know it. Hey, did Valerie ever tell you about how the bard here challenged her to a fist fight, and she conjured her flame atronach and he pissed his pants and ran out of the inn screaming?”

Argis burst out laughing. “She did not,” he said. “But please, you go ahead. And let me buy you another drink.”

They stayed at the inn until late, drinking and eating with the Companions. When the sun set, more of Whiterun’s citizens joined them, and Valerie introduced him to more of her friends—a redheaded woman who quizzed him about their trip with the Khajiit caravan, a dark-haired widow who was the mother of that little girl who had hugged Valerie in the market. Ulfberth from the smithy showed up, with his wife, an Imperial woman whose straightforward but friendly matter reminded him of his sister.

From the Companions, he met a redheaded woman, face streaked with warpaint, who questioned him fiercely about his credentials to being Valerie’s housecarl before she nodded and walked away abruptly, finally satisfied. There was an Imperial woman, as sweet and puppy-like as Erik, and a dark elf who praised his tattoo. Argis listened as the two of them talked with Valerie, asking her to tell them of the places she visited in her travels, of their homes they hadn’t been to in years. By this point she had had at least six tankards of ale and probably about an entire bottle of wine, and he was impressed she could still form a coherent sentence.

Vilkas never moved from his seat. Argis saw him smile, once, watching Erik telling an enthusiastic story across the room.

Lydia avoided him completely.

Eventually, Hulda rang the bell for last call, and soon after that, the inn began to empty. Erik took off, followed closely by Vilkas and several other Companions. After a brief conversation with Valerie, Lydia left with Farkas, giving Argis one last suspicious look as she headed out the door.

“Shall we?” Valerie said, after walking back over to him on wobbly legs. She held on to the edge of the table.

“You all right?” he asked, standing up and offering his arm. “You’ve had quite a bit.”

She took it, but still nodded. “I’m fine.” Her eyes looked a little glazed. “Shouldn’t have had that wine. It’s just hitting me now. But I’ll be fine as soon as I get to a bed. Hey, Argis, conjure me up a warm bed, would you?” She giggled.

“Soon as we get back to Breezehome,” he said, steering her to the door.

“Conjure me up a warm… a warm…” She couldn’t even finish her sentence, dissolving into more giggles.

“I don’t even want to know,” he said, laughing. He pushed the door open, and they stepped out onto the stairs.

Valerie took a breath of the cold air. “Ah,” she said. “That’s better.”

He waited next to her, watching her in the moonlight. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted up to the stars.

She opened her eyes. “The stars are so beautiful,” she said. “So, so, so…” She swayed a little on her feet.

“You all right to walk home?” he asked, quietly.

“Yup,” she said, turning to him. “Just give me a hand on the stairs.”

She meant it literally, and Argis watched as she reached for him, grabbing his hand in her own. She squeezed it as she walked down the steps, still a little wobbly. “Gods. Are you always this warm?”

“I… Uh...” he stuttered. “Don’t know?” He stared at their clasped hands as he followed her carefully down the stairs.

She stopped. “Conjure me up a warm Argis,” she said, and blinked at him, her eyes dark and wide in the moonlight. Then she burst into giggles again. “A warm… Oh, I can’t, I can’t…”

“All right, all right,” Argis muttered. “Let’s keep walking.” He pulled his hand away from her and wrapped an arm around her waist instead, steering her down the remaining steps.

Her giggles faded as they walked through the empty market. She was steadier, now, but he kept his arm around her waist, anyway, trying to ignore the feel of her soft curves under her dress. 

As they passed the well in the center of the market, Valerie said, “Lydia’s staying at Jorrvaskr tonight.”

Argis nearly walked into the wooden pole outside the general store. He righted himself, gaping at her. What was she implying? What should he say?

“So you can take her room,” she finished.

Idiot, he told himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Lydia’s words came back to him, mocking: _If you fuck up and she gets hurt because you’re too busy thinking with your cock instead of your brain..._

Think with your brain, he told himself. Think with your fucking brain.

But, Gods, his heart was a glutton for punishment. “So you’re all right with her and… and Farkas? He said that you two kind of… had a thing for a while.”

Valerie sighed. “Yeah, we did. It wasn’t serious, though. Farkas is sweet, really. But I had just gotten to Whiterun, and with everything going on, I couldn’t… Anyway. Farkas is a good man, but honestly, for anything serious I need someone who’s a little more… intellectually stimulating.” She giggled again. “Not just… in-bed stimulating.”

Your brain, he told himself. Your brain, idiot, your brain.

“When you heard his voice upstairs, you seemed a little…” he started.

“Yeah.” She sighed again. “It’s weird. I don’t want Farkas. I don’t,” she repeated. “He and Lydia are good together, and I’m happy for them. It’s just… I always thought that I’d have someone, but I…” She trailed off.

They were outside Breezehome now. A guard walked past, nodding at them in greeting. His torch cast flickering lights on the side of the house, on Valerie’s face, sad and wistful.

He swallowed, unable to say anything.

She dug around the little leather bag in her waist, causing him to drop his arm. He could still feel her pressed against him, the soft warmth of her a phantom ache. “I’m being silly,” she said. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” She pulled her key out, pressed it into his palm. “You go ahead.”

He unlocked the door and led her inside, heading up the stairs in silence, Valerie following behind.

“I’m on the right,” she said, quietly, when they got to the landing. He took a few steps over, pushing the door open for her. She walked through the doorway, so small that she passed underneath his outstretched arm without even having to bend her head.

Her bedroom here was cramped, tucked under the eaves. There was a small chest, a couple of cupboards, a little dresser. Above her bed—straw, with a few scant furs—hung a mage’s staff on a display rack meant to hold weapons. The head of the staff was carved to look like a dragon. A few candles burned low, resting on the cupboard next to the bed.

Unlike in Vlindrel Hall, there were no scattered flowers, no fancy crockery. It was like the room belonged to a different person entirely.

“Well,” he said. “Goodnight.” He turned for the door.

“No,” she said. “No, Argis…”

He turned back to her, and saw that she was reaching a hand out toward him. She stepped forward, letting her hand rest on his chest.

What would she do if he put his arm around her waist again, pulling her closer this time? If he touched her hair, the soft skin of her cheeks, her lips? If he did anything, anything, if he could just open his mouth and tell her—

“Stay,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T KILL ME for stopping it there, hahaha. I love you all.


	19. Was I Wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for mentions of not-exactly-consensual sex.*

“Stay,” she said.

Gods, he thought. _Gods._ This was really happening. Her eyes seemed huge in the dim light of her bedroom, hypnotizing him as she gazed up at his face. Her cheeks were pink, her lips red, slightly parted. He felt his heart beat faster as he stared at her soft mouth. He could kiss her, he could kiss her right now, take her in his arms and walk her backwards into her little wooden bed, push her down onto it, touch her and taste her and push himself inside of her, make her moan, make her cling to him, make her sob out his name and finally, finally, he would be something more to her than _just_ a housecarl—

She stepped a little closer, still, and stumbled. His heart sank, and he knew that he was fooling himself, fooling himself about everything, but most importantly… She was drunk. She was drunk, and he was awful.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, Valerie, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“So what?” she whispered. She swayed on her feet as she clung to him. “I don’t care.”

“I _do_ ,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t crack.

“I used to… do this all the time,” she said. “In Hammerfell, Cyrodiil. I’d drink too much and bring some man back to my bed. They never cared how drunk I was.” She took a step back from him, still wobbling.

 _Fuck._ He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Well, I care,” he said. “ _They_ should have cared.”

She shrugged. “I drank enough that I probably won’t even remember this tomorrow.” Her eyes were bright, glittering at him. “Why do you always have to be so honorable, Argis?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I can’t.” I want to, he thought. I want to, I want you, but I love you, and I don’t want you like this.

 _Some man_ , she had said. He would rather be just a housecarl to her forever than just some man.

She swayed again. He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her. “You should go to sleep,” he said, his voice rough.

She shrugged him off. “Don’t you want me?”

He gaped at her. “What? Valerie, I…” _Gods_ , if she only knew... 

She brought her hands up to her chest, to the ties in the center of the long green dress. “I know I’m not like… the women you’re probably used to…” He watched, unable to move, unable to look away as she untied the strings, tugging the laces loose. “I’m not tall or strong like… like a soldier, or Lydia, or the women in the Companions…” The front of her dress fell open, slipping off both of her pale shoulders to pool around her elbows, falling low on the soft, white skin of her stomach.

“But I thought that you might still… want me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “Well? Was I… was I wrong?”

He stared at her openly, desperately, drinking her in.

Argis had seen, he liked to think, a fair few number of women without their dresses, or their shirts, or their armor. Nearly all of them had covered their chests with wrappings of cloth, bound tightly against them; a few had worn something that tied in the back, and behind their neck; several had worn nothing at all.

But beneath Valerie’s dress was some sort of intricate, silky thing, edged with lace and held together with a kind of boning. It was a little darker than the color of her skin, maybe peach, or a pale pink. It dipped low, in the middle, where there was a tiny bow. He fought down the urge to reach out, to touch it, to touch her, to feel how delicate it was, how delicate she was under the rough skin of his hands. The fabric was thin, and as he stared, fixated, he could see her nipples hardening underneath it from the cool night air. He swallowed a groan.

“Was I wrong, Argis?” she asked again.

“No,” he whispered. “No, you’re not wrong.” He stepped forward, and, hands trembling, touched the smooth tops of her arms. She closed her eyes in anticipation, and he felt her shudder lightly under his palms.

But... hating himself, and his honor, he slid his hands down to the sleeves to her dress and tugged them back up her shoulders. Trying, but failing, to ignore his hands brushing against the soft skin of her chest and the press of her breasts against the fabric that bound them, he tied the front of her dress back up. He made a mess of it; his hands were shaking.

Breathing shallowly, he rested his hands on her shoulders. He looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, and she blinked them open slowly, looking dazed.

“You sure you won’t remember this tomorrow?” he asked her. His heart was racing again. He could still smell the wildflower scent from before, from whatever she had used when she bathed. He breathed in deeply, wanting to remember it.

She shook her head, her dark hair sweeping gently back and forth on her shoulders.

Achingly slowly, he moved his hand, reaching up to her face. He cupped her jaw, gently tilting her face up to his, and her eyes fluttered closed again. He pushed her hair back with the edge of his hand, tucking it behind her ears. With his thumb, he stroked the bridge of her nose, the soft darkness of her eyebrows, the swell of her cheeks, still pink in the dim light. He touched her mouth. Her lips parted; she exhaled, a soft breath.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he told her, his voice rough and low. Holding her face in both hands, he bent down, brushing his lips against her forehead.

She sighed, the lightest, sweetest noise he’d ever heard, and he pulled away.

It was hard to think, after that. Somehow he steered her, still stumbling, into her bed and covered her up with the furs. He went downstairs to get her a drink of water, and a small bucket, in case she got sick in the middle of the night. By the time he came back into her room, she was curled into a little ball, her hair fanned out on the pillow, seemingly asleep.

He put the bucket on the floor, the water on the little cupboard next to her bed. He stood next to her for a moment, looking down at her, her sweet face relaxed on the pillow. Her eyelashes made shadows on her cheek.

He blew out the candles, and crossed the room to close the door.

She stirred. “Argis?”

He stood in the doorway, watching her eyes shine at him in the darkness. “Yeah?”

“We’re still friends, aren’t we, Argis?”

“Yeah,” he said. His mouth was dry, and his voice came out harsh, strained. “Yeah, we’re still friends.”

***

An hour later, he was lying on his back in Lydia’s bed, ears straining for any sound at all coming from Valerie’s room. He had been trying to fall asleep since he’d left her, warring with his mind, forcing himself to keep from thinking about what had just happened, what he wanted to happen, what he could be doing right now if he’d just swallowed his pride and his honor and just _stayed_ —

Her face and arms had felt so soft. He clenched his hands, opening and closing them, remembering the feel of her shuddering beneath them. Would she want him to be gentle? Rough? What kind of noises would she make, what would her face look like when he tugged down the lacy binding that she wore and cupped her breast, when he slid his hand between her legs and stroked her there?

Enough, he told himself, even as he palmed his cock, insistent and hard beneath his trousers, his breath coming out in a gasp as he finally, finally found the tiniest bit of relief. Enough. She was drunk, you nearly took advantage—she’s in the next room. She _trusts_ you and here you are, touching yourself and imagining her—

It was wrong. It was wrong to think of her like this, and he knew it, and he knew he’d feel terrible tomorrow when she looked at him and smiled at him the way she always did, her dark eyes bright and mischievous as she whispered something that only he could hear. Her small hand, soft and warm on his arm, his wrist. The waves of her dark hair, tickling her pale throat, tangling with her necklaces as she played with them, tips of her fingers brushing against the swell of her breast—

Fuck.

Wrong, he thought, even as he unlaced his trousers under the blanket, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning as he stroked himself with a shaking hand. He wouldn’t last long; it had been days since he’d gotten himself off. He had been trying to avoid it as much as possible ever since he met her, ever since that dream he’d had about her, knowing that he’d think of her, knowing that he’d dishonor her with his thoughts, that she deserved more. It was wrong, he was wrong, he was terrible—she was his thane, he was sworn to protect her with his life, to serve her, to please her—

Oh, _fuck._

He tried, desperately, to think of anything, anyone else. Of Vera, who used to grind herself against his mouth, banging on the headboard as she came above him. Frina, who fucked like a sabrecat, snarling and bucking as she rode him, scratching her nails down his chest. Or Maliah, who liked when he fucked her from behind, his hand tugging on her dark hair—

But Maliah’s dark hair became Valerie’s dark hair, spread out on the pillow of her bed as she moaned, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. He was kissing his way down her chest, smooth and unmarred, pale as milk, one hand kneading her soft, heavy breast, filling his palm while his mouth found the other, suckling at a pink nipple.

He grunted, lost in his fantasy as he moved his hand faster. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Come on, fuck, _please_ —”

“Please,” she’d whimper, as he mouthed her soft skin. “Please,” she’d gasp, as he pushed her pale, trembling thighs open. “Please,” she’d beg, as he pressed his mouth to her hot, wet cunt—

He came with a strangled groan, spilling over his hand and his stomach. He gasped, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe, and dropped his forearm over his face. His whole body shuddered as he came down from what was probably the most intense orgasm of his life.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He moved his arm from his face, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling above him. “Ah, fuck.”

He was fucked.

***

Morning found him up at dawn, sitting in Valerie’s little kitchen downstairs as he drank cup of coffee after cup of coffee and waited for her, planning out in his mind what he’d say.

I’m sorry I touched your face? I’m sorry I kissed your forehead? I’m sorry I didn’t stay?

Would that be enough? Gods. He had no idea what to do. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do both, one after the other, over and over and over… He wanted to do neither, and pretend this whole thing never happened. His hand shook as he poured another coffee, his fourth.

_Good morning Valerie, last night you tried to take off your dress in front of me and I put it back on for you. You called me honorable, but actually I’m a fucking idiot—_

_Good morning Valerie, last night you were drunk and I wasn’t and I came very close to spending the night with you, I’ll pack my things and you can have Lydia as your housecarl again, because I obviously need to live in a cave alone like a fucking hermit—_

_Good morning Valerie, I made you some coffee, we should talk about what happened last night, maybe upstairs in your bed—_

He heard a loud groan, directly over his head, following by the sounds of Valerie stumbling around her bedroom, cursing as she crashed into—he paused, calculating where she was above his head—her dresser.

“Argis?” she called.

“Downstairs,” he called back, hoping his voice sounded normal.

“Coffee?”

“Waiting here for you.”

She stomped down the stairs, making more noise than he thought was possible from her. He stared as his coffee as she sat across from him with a thump, taking the mug he offered her. She drank the coffee in long swallows, then put her head on the table, resting it on her arms.

“Ugh,” she said. “Thanks. You’re the best.” She rubbed at her face with both hands. She had a long pillow crease across one cheek and her hair looked enormous, puffed up like a bird’s nest on one side of her head. He couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Where’s Lydia?” she asked, raising her head up to look around the room.

“She’s with Farkas, at Jorrvaskr. Don’t you…” he said, slowly. “Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head. “How much did I drink?”

“Quite a bit…” His heart was pounding. He didn’t know what else she had forgotten. Things would be so, so much easier if he could just pretend that last night, in her room, had never happened. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Aela arm wrestling Uthgerd,” she said. “No, wait. Talking to Ria and Athis, about Morrowind. Oh—and then standing on the steps outside the inn, with you, staring up at the stars.” She looked at him, confused. “Argis, I didn’t… I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, nothing embarrassing.”

“I didn’t say anything odd, or…”

“No,” he said again, firmly. He wanted, more than he always did, to protect her from being hurt. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

If anything, that was him.

Her shoulders relaxed in relief. “Good,” she said. She smiled at him, and Argis knew, deep down, that she truly didn’t remember last night. There was no way she would lie to him, not about something like this. “Do me a favor and don’t let me drink that much again. Sometimes, when I drink a lot…” She trailed off, staring down at the ties on her dress, tugging at one of the ribbons that he’d tied back together messily last night. She looked up. “Is there more coffee?”

He reached over to the pot by the fire and filled her mug up. “You were… You were saying?”

“Bad things happen when I drink that much,” she said. She smiled a strange, tight smile, staring into her mug. “Strange men in my bed, me in a strange man’s bed. One time I woke up in a field, wearing someone else’s shoes… And then there was that time I stole someone’s goat and nearly married a hagraven.”

“What?!” exclaimed Argis. “You _what_ —”

She laughed. “I didn’t. Long story. Very long. But… I used to drink like that a lot. It’s a wonder I’m not dead, really.” She was silent, for a moment. “You know, after my parents died, I was kind of in a bad way for a while. A little self-destructive, I guess. I didn’t really care what happened to me. What I did to myself, what other people did to me…” She gave herself a little shake. “Anyway. Long time ago, that.”

And you nearly took her to bed. You are a terrible person, Argis told himself. A terrible, horrible…

“I don’t know what I’d do if I’d embarrassed myself, did something I’d regret in the morning,” she finished. She smiled at him. “So, what do you say about bacon? I need something more than toast for this hangover, Hulda gave me a bounty from the jarl’s men that I wanted to bring in today.” She swiped at her hair, trying to smooth it back from her face. “Gods, my hair must be out of control right now...”

Something she’d regret in the morning. His mind repeated her words at him, as he nodded and attempted to smile at her, standing up to grab the skillet from where it hung from the hook on the ceiling.

Something she’d regret in the morning. Her voice echoed in his brain as he made the two of them breakfast, as she chatted away behind him, talking about her plans for the rest of the day, what she needed to do and who she needed to see before they left for Ivarstead.

Something she’d regret in the morning. And that was him. She would have regretted him, she would have regretted what they’d done. No matter what she’d said to him when she was drunk—so drunk that she couldn’t even remember anything—no matter what she told him…

_Don’t you want me?_

And he did. So badly. More than anything, more than he had ever wanted in his life. And she must know, somehow. He must have given his thoughts away, some look or glance, some smile. He’d have to try harder to be professional, to be just her housecarl. Because if she didn’t want him back…

Gods, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her.

The Valerie he saw last night, who’d touched his chest and unlaced her dress in front of him, in the dark of her bedroom… That wasn’t really her. She hadn’t meant it. He knew that now. It was good that he didn’t stay, he told himself. She would have regretted it, regretted him, regretted the two of them together. It was good that things were back to normal. That he knew his place again.

The sunlight streamed through Breezehome’s small window, reflecting off the metal plates. He sat down, shielding his eyes from the brightness as he picked up his fork.

“Everything all right, Argis?” Valerie asked him, concerned. “You seem kind of quiet.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

In the harsh light of the morning, he knew now for certain that she didn’t want him. That he was back to being just her housecarl.

Do your job, he told himself. Be strong. Hold yourself together. You’re fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to add an "Argis/his hand" tag to this or what? 
> 
> And apologies on the outcome of this chapter, guys! I promise they will get there in the end--or before it. When they're both sober and better at communicating :D


	20. Peace Offering

It was hard, though, to do his job when there was another person who was intent on doing it for him.

“She told you to wait here,” Lydia barked at him, as Valerie went upstairs to change into her mage robes. Lydia had shown up after breakfast, and Valerie told her about the jarl’s bounty, for a giant that was attacking a local farm. “You don’t even have a chestpiece!”

She was right—it was still at the blacksmith’s, and probably wouldn’t be ready until later. Lydia herself was wearing her Dwarven armor, outlandishly massive around the shoulders, with a ridiculous purple skirt. “So what?” Argis grunted, as he rooted through his bag for his sword. “Don’t need it.” He gestured at the elven sword she wore, strapped to her armor at the waist. “You think you’re fighting at your best with that sword of yours? You know it’s too light for you, I can see how you carry it!”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous!” Lydia hissed. “At least I’m wearing a chestpiece, for Divines’ sake!” 

“Well then I’ll buy another one!” he whispered harshly, conscious of the thin walls and floors of the house, and Valerie getting ready upstairs. “I’m not leaving her alone to go kill a bloody giant!”

“She’s not _alone_ , you great big fucking oaf—”

“Everything ok, guys?” Valerie stood at the top of the stairs. Her voice sounded vaguely suspicious.

“Fine,” he said. His hand finally closed around the hilt of the dwarven sword. He pulled it out of its bag and stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Argis.” Valerie stared at him as she came down the stairs. Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to laugh. “I’ll be all right. Lydia’s more than capable—”

Behind her back, Lydia made a face at him that Valerie couldn’t see.

“—of protecting me. Besides, you took a warhammer to the chest yesterday, in case you’ve forgotten, and your armor’s still with Adrianne.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “Just hang out here, relax! You can read, or go to the inn... Maybe Erik wants some pointers from you. And there are some shops—maybe you can get your niece a present, and we can send it before we leave for Ivarstead.”

Gods, he couldn’t believe that she was going out to fight a giant and she expected him to stay at home and go _shopping_.

“I’d really rather come with you,” he grumbled.

“And I really,” she said, giving him a little smile, “am going to be just fine with Lydia.” She turned to her. “You ready?”

Lydia stood at attention. “Yes, my thane.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “All right, that’s enough of that. Let’s go. Argis,” she said, as opened the front door and stepped across the threshold, “We’ll be back before dinner.”

He sighed. “Bye.”

He watched her walk down the front steps, picking her robes up so they didn’t drag. Lydia, making sure Valerie wasn’t looking, stuck her tongue out, scrunching her face at him as she squeezed past him through the doorway in her bulky Dwarven armor.

He shut the door.

The sword went back in his bag. He walked around the ground floor of Breezehome, picking up things and putting them down again. He inspected the iron war axe hanging on display above the inside of the front door. He sat, then stood, then sat again.

He supposed he could read. He still had half of _The Mirror_ left. But he didn’t want to sit around relaxing. He didn’t want his mind too quiet, didn’t want to think of Valerie fighting anything without him. And he didn’t want to give himself the chance to linger on last night, how soft she had felt, how good she smelled, how lovely she looked as she begged him to stay—

How in the morning, she said she was glad she didn’t do something that she’d regret.

Ugh. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He wanted—no, needed—to hit something.

He opened his bag up again. Maybe he could find a training dummy somewhere, make the most of his nervous energy. The Companions probably had a few, or maybe he could find the guardhouse—

There were two swords in his bag.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, as he pulled on the other one, tugging it free from the cloth—

It was the sword that Ri’saad had given him, he realized, blinking as it slid from its wrappings. He had quickly shoved it inside his rucksack without opening it yesterday, before they made it through the gates, with the intention of taking a closer look once they were settled. But then, with everything that had happened, he’d forgotten about it completely.

“Gods,” he whispered, in awe, as the sword was finally revealed. It was long, dark, slim and deadly sharp, the blade intricately carved with swirling designs. He tested the grip, feeling the hilt fit perfectly against his palm.

Ri’saad had given him an ebony sword.

He’d never seen a weapon this beautiful in his life. There was absolutely no way he could accept it, no way he was worthy, and he was dashing out of the house, sliding the sword into the empty scabbard on his belt and jogging toward the city’s gates before he could even think twice.

But outside, by the stables, the Khajiit had vanished, and the area they’d begun unloading in the day before was empty and barren.

“Where are they?” Argis called out, to a passing guard. “The Khajiit, are they already gone?”

“The cats?” the guard said. “Cleared out this morning. Good riddance.” He spat on the ground by his feet.

“Hey! Don’t be an asshole,” Argis snapped. “They’re just trying to make a living.”

If a fully helmeted guard could look surprised, this one managed it. “All right,” he said. His head inclined down, taking in the hilt of the ebony sword. “No need to get upset about it.”

Argis gave him a gruff nod, and headed back through the gates.

Before he made it to Breezehome, he passed the dark elf from the Companions making his way out of the city.

“Hey,” he called. “Hey, uh… Athis!”

The Dunmer paused, turning to see who was calling him. “Ah. Hello, Argis the Bulwark! To what do I owe the honor?”

“You guys have a training yard I could use?” He pulled the hilt of the sword a few inches out of its scabbard. “Just got a new weapon.”

Athis gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Round the back of Jorrvaskr. One of the other Companions should be out there, they’ll get you set up. I’ve got a cave bear near Riverwood to kill, otherwise I’d join you.”

It wound up being Farkas that Argis ran into, after he picked up Spellbreaker back in Breezehome, and the other man was happy to spar with him in the yard in the back of the building. Argis could tell that Farkas went easy on him, since he wasn’t wearing his full armor, but he still kept him on his toes and kept his mind from wondering what Valerie was doing.

“So where is Valerie this morning?” Farkas dodged a swipe of the flat of his ebony sword, bouncing backwards on his feet.

“Fighting a giant,” Argis grunted. “With Lydia.” He gritted his teeth, bashing Farkas in the side with Spellbreaker, and pushed the image of Valerie being crushed by a giant’s club out of his head.

Farkas staggered back with an “Oof,” then held up his hands. “All right, Bulwark!” he called, as Argis stood there, panting and still crouched in a battle stance. “Let’s take a break before you actually do some damage.”

Argis straightened up. “Uh,” he said. “Sorry.”

They sat on the patio while an older woman—Tilma, Argis assumed—brought out a platter of meat and cheese and bread for them for lunch, along with a couple of huge tankards of ale. Eventually they were joined by Aela, the redheaded woman with the warpaint, and another Nord woman, her face stuck in a perpetual scowl.

Argis ate without talking, letting the Companions’ conversation flow around him. Someone had a skeever problem in Morthal, apparently, and there was a man in Winterhold whose wife kept turning up at the market with bruises on her face and arms.

“We’ll take that one, Njada,” said Aela, tearing into a turkey leg.

“Can’t wait,” Njada said, monotone, but Argis got the impression she meant it.

Argis wondered what the two of them would do to the man, then decided it was better that he didn’t know.

After they’d finished eating, the others began heading back into the building.

“Sorry, brother,” Farkas rumbled at him. “Gotta go speak to Skjor. Companions stuff, you understand.”

Argis nodded. “Erik around?” Sparring with someone who fought with a greatsword would help sharpen his skills, too.

Farkas shook his head and shrugged. “Think he’s off with Vilkas somewhere. The yard’s yours though, as long as you’d like to use it.” He stood up, unfolding his legs from beneath the table, and headed inside.

Argis drank the rest of his ale slowly, looking out over the now abandoned training yard. It butted against the wall of the city, and there was a little raised area that he guessed was used as a lookout. Maybe he could try to peer over the edge, see if he could see Valerie and Lydia coming back. He had no idea which direction they’d be coming from. Or maybe he could head back to the city gates, climb up to one of the watchtowers there. Would the guards even let him? He could be convincing, if he had to. He rubbed the edge of the empty tankard with his thumb, making patterns in the condensation, wondering how long it would be until dinner, and how best he should calm his mind until then. He realized his leg had been shaking under the table without him noticing, bouncing on the ground with nervous energy. He stopped it.

“Are you finished?”

He jumped, swearing and knocking over the tankard. He scrambled to pick it up.

“I’ve got it, it’s all right, they spill things all the time.” It was the girl from yesterday, who’d sat next to him in the garden outside the temple.

“It’s empty,” he said, holding it out to her. “Lucia, right?”

She smiled at him, nodding. “Hi, Argis. Where’s Thane Valerie? Doing something fun without you?” She started gathering the plates and mugs onto a tray she was holding.

“Something like that,” he told her, trying to help.

She shooed his hands away. “Me too. I mean, everyone’s doing something without me. I wanted Aela to give me another archery lesson, but she’s being boring with Farkas and Skjor. And Erik’s off with grumpy Vilkas.”

“I could do it, if you want,” he said. “Give you an archery lesson, I mean. I’m sure I’m not as good as Aela, but I know a thing or two.”

“Yeah?” She held the tray with both hands, eyeing him warily.

“Yeah,” he said, then smiled as a little idea began to form in his mind. “But first… How do you feel about shopping?”

When Valerie did finally turn up late in the afternoon—sweaty and a little bedraggled, but otherwise unharmed—she found the two of them in the yard, Lucia aiming at the practice dummy with a small hunter’s bow.

“You steady?” Argis called to her, from where he sat at the top of the low wall.

“Yeah!”

“Lined up?”

“Yeah!”

“Then release!”

Lucia’s arrow hit just outside the bullseye, and she shrieked in delight.

“Nice shot!” Valerie cried out, walking closer. Lucia dropped the bow on the floor and ran to her.

“Hey!” Argis yelled, as he slid from his spot off the wall. He had felt immense relief flow through his entire body the second he saw Valerie, still in one piece. “Respect the weaponry, Lucia!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She dashed back, to pick it up. “Thane Valerie, Thane Valerie! Argis took me to Belethor’s, and I picked out a present for his niece! Did you know she’s 12, like me? And then he got me a bow from Anoriath, that I can keep! Did you see me make that shot? We’ve been practicing for like, 10 hours!”

“Not quite that long,” Argis corrected, meeting the two of them where they were standing near the tables.

Valerie looked over Lucia’s bow, making appropriately impressed noises. She smiled up at Argis. “Managed to fill your day, then? How was it?”

She had a smear of dirt on her cheek and was still wearing her mage robes. He knew that he was just her housecarl, that she didn’t care for him as anything other than a friend, but it looked like she’d come straight to find him when she got back to the city, rather than going back to Breezehome to clean up first. The thought hurt as much as it made his heart lift.

Why would she do something like that if she didn’t want him? Why did she seem so happy to see him even though she thought that being with him was something she’d regret? Why did everything have to be so complicated when it seemed like it would be the easiest thing in the world to bend down, kiss her hello, and say that he’d missed her, and that he was glad she was safe?

He shrugged. “It was all right.”

***

The next afternoon, he heard someone call his father’s name.

To say it was a shock to hear it would be putting it mildly. His whole body jolted, his head jerking up to find the source of the sound, oddly familiar for something he hadn’t heard in so long, like a buried memory from a faded dream. The book he was reading fell out of his hands onto the table, making him lose his place.

He had been nearly at the end of The Mirror, holed up at The Bannered Mare for the last few hours. Valerie had spent almost the whole day so far at Dragonsreach—in the morning with the Jarl, in the afternoon with Farengar, the court wizard. Turned out he was a Nord, just like Valerie had said, but he was dismissive and suspicious of Argis. The mage watched him out of the corner of his eye as Valerie told him about the dragon she’d fought at Bruca’s Leap Redoubt, flashing warning glances at him every so often.

Like with the Jarl, Valerie hadn’t mentioned Delphine or Esbern, or Sky Haven Temple, only that she was heading to High Hrothgar to learn a new shout that could help defeat Alduin. Argis thought he was being unobtrusive—he had stood patiently, waiting in silence by Valerie’s side. But Farengar had complained that his sighing—was he sighing?—was driving him crazy, and Valerie had kindly suggested he wait for her at the inn while she finished up. He had taken her up on it, eager to be away from the prickly, suspicious Nord mage, and had forced himself to go back to his book. He had been reading and drinking in relative peace for several hours, until his calm was shattered by someone calling his father’s name.

But as he looked up at the source, an older man, with snow white hair but a sturdy, strong body, Argis realized that he wasn’t just calling his father’s name...

He was calling _Argis_ by his father’s name.

“Arvild?” the man said again. “Arvild Strong-Shield?” He looked astonished. “How is it possible…”

“It’s not,” Argis said. “He’s dead.” Saying it never got any easier, even after all these years.

The astonishment faded from the man’s eyes, replaced with a grim realization. “Of course. I had heard, long ago, but...” He nodded. “That means you could only be…”

“I’m his son,” Argis said. He stood up, unfolding the length of his body from the low wooden chair and table he’d been seated behind. He watched the old man’s eyes follow up and up as he revealed himself, standing at attention. They had picked up his chestpiece this morning before going to Dragonsreach and he’d put it on before they’d even left Warmaiden’s; in full armor, he knew that he cut an impressive figure. The old man was big, but Argis had a few inches on him, easily. “Who wants to know?”

“Eorlund Gray-Mane,” the man said, holding his hand out to Argis. “I run the Sky-Forge, and I remember your father well, boy. It’s Argis, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Argis told him, taking his hand. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Eorlund gestured to the empty seat. “Mind if I…?”

Argis sat back down. “Go right ahead.”

Eorlund sat across from him, looking around at the room, nodding to himself. Argis waited silently; it seemed like the man wanted to say something, but was finding it hard to bring it up.

“Not a smith yourself, then?” he asked finally, taking in the weapons waiting by Argis’ side.

He shook his head. “The skill missed me completely. I’m a housecarl, my thane is in Whiterun for a few days.”

Eorlund grunted in surprise. “The little one? Talks too much, wears enough jewelry for half a dozen women?”

Argis smiled. “That’s her.”

The other man nodded. “Your sister must run your father’s forge, then. Your father always said she’d make a good blacksmith.”

“She married young, had a kid young. Her husband runs it now. A War-Anvil, from Windhelm.”

Eorlund made a dismissive noise. “War-Anvils.”

Argis raised his drink in agreement, taking a long swallow.

“Not a thing wrong, though, with keeping a family together,” Eorlund said. He scratched at his beard, looking contemplative.

“Alma could have been the best smith in Skyrim,” Argis said. “Present company excluded, of course.” There was some bitterness in him, Argis knew, but not because he wasn’t as good a smith as his sister. He had never wanted to be a smith, had always known that she would be the one to work with his father, even when they were children. But…

He had been in the Legion for just over a year when his mother had sent word that Alma had married. When he’d finally met Jofnir, he’d found him petulant and whiny, in no way a match for his strong, funny sister. They’d worked side by side, at first, but once Alma had Maeri and his mother’s leg had started to pain her, she’d stepped back. The last time he’d visited, he hadn’t seen her working at the forge at all.

She was a great smith, and Argis knew, deep down, that she could have been famous throughout Skyrim for her work—

“But did she want to be?” Eorlund asked, and Argis found that he had no answer for him.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Yesterday, at the general goods store, Lucia had asked him what his niece liked. Was it dresses? Necklaces? Books? Did she still play with dolls? Argis had shrugged, a little overwhelmed with what to buy for a small girl. Eventually, he had bought his niece a wooden sword, thinking that, at the very least, if she had the tiniest amount of interest, he could help her learn to use it. Belethor had protested that they were really for boys, but Argis had glared at him until he shut his mouth and took his money in silence.

“My wife and I have three children,” Eorlund said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Had. Have. I… I’m not sure. The boys… the war...”

Argis nodded, feeling solemn. “I’m sorry.”

“My wife says that your thane,” Eorlund told him, looking him in the eye, “did something for my son that I… Well. I don’t know if it’s a debt I can ever repay.”

Argis stared at him, stunned.

“And that’s why I’m here now,” the old man told him. “I can’t lose my daughter, too. And…” The door to the inn creaked open. A tall Nord girl, her long fair hair in a braid down her back, walked through the doors, followed by Valerie and… a young man, one that Argis had seen this morning in the market, loitering outside the front of Belethor’s shop.

“Speaking of…” Eorlund said. He stood up, straightening. “Jon Battle-Born,” he said, addressing the young man behind Valerie. His voice echoed through the inn. “Sit, and we’ll discuss your intentions for my daughter.”

***

He didn’t have the chance to ask Valerie about it until later, after night had fallen and they were walking back to Breezehome.

“So how did you solve that mystery,” he said, as they walked past Belethor’s shop. He half expected to see Jon Battle-Born there, but of course, he was inside the Bannered Mare, drinking with his family and what remained of the Gray-Manes. “With Jon and Olfina?”

Valerie shrugged, turning to smile at him. “If you listen hard enough, eventually you can figure anything out. There was some gossip, I put two and two together, mentioned something to Jon and… his reaction told me all I needed to know. I saw you talking to Eorlund Gray-Mane when we came in. What’d he have to say about it?”

“Not much,” Argis admitted. “We were mostly talking about my father.”

Valerie stopped short. “He knew your father? Oh, Argis, I had no idea, I’m so sorry, I should have taken you up to the Sky Forge instead of making you stand around all day in Dragonsreach, you could have talked to him—”

“It’s fine,” he told her. They were meant to leave for Ivarstead at dawn tomorrow, but he could always speak with the old smith the next time they came to Whiterun. That night, he hadn’t wanted to disturb his time with his family.

“All right,” she said. She stared at him for a moment before she started walking again. “Argis, you know, we’ll probably be traveling around a lot.” She paused. “At least for a while, I mean. If there’s anywhere you’d like to go, or something you want to do, or someone you’d like to see, I’d be happy to make a detour…”

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll just follow you.” His throat felt tight. “It’s my job, after all.”

Her voice was quiet by the time she replied to him. “I guess it is.”

At Breezehome, Lydia was sitting by the fire, slowly chewing a piece of bread like she meant it to last all night. She watched him as he walked past, grabbing his rucksack from its place by the door to set up his bedroll in the little alchemy room, off to the side beneath the stairs. He laid down in it and stared at the ceiling, listening to Valerie say good night to Lydia.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Goodnight, Argis.”

He swallowed. The room was so small that his feet stuck out the doorway. He felt like an idiot. “Night,” he said.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He heard the sound of Valerie’s soft footsteps climbing the stairs. He could picture the hurt look on her face, her confusion as to why he was being so abrupt with her. But he had to strengthen his resolve. It was too hard to pretend that everything was normal. It was too hard to pretend that she cared about him like he cared about her. It hurt too much.

He was messing everything up again.

To quiet the disapproving voice in his head, he turned over, clambering around on his knees in the tiny alchemy room until he found some paper and charcoal in one of the dressers.

 _A—_ , he wrote,

_Met Eorlund Gray-Mane today. He said da was proud of you._

_Got this for Maeri. I’ll show her how to use it one day, if it’s ok with you._

_You’re a good mother. Sorry if I never told you that before._

_I miss him. And you._

_—A_

He searched his bag until he found the wooden sword he bought for Maeri, tied the letter to it with some twine, stuck it on top of the chest in the corner of the room, and tried to go to sleep.

It was hours before he could.

***

In the morning, as they were leaving the city, he passed the courier stand by the gates and told Valerie that he’d forgotten his package in Breezehome.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he told her. She nodded, handing him her keys, and he jogged back, knowing she was watching him the whole way.

He hadn’t, of course, forgotten his package for his niece—it was buried at the bottom of his bag. He just needed an excuse to go back to the house.

By the time he got the door open, Lydia was standing at the top of the stairs, watching him suspiciously as he crossed the threshold. “Need something?”

In response, he pulled out the dwarven sword, and she immediately drew her own weapon. Argis was right, he knew, as he saw how she held it. It was too light for her.

“No, wait. Lydia, I don’t want to fight,” he said. He walked to the bottom of the stairs, then up halfway, slowly, without making any sudden moves. Lydia tracked him the whole way. He held the hilt of the sword out to her. She stared at it, unblinking. “I want to give this to you.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Lydia said, still staring at the sword.

“Valerie wants us to get along. Take it. Think of it as a peace offering,” he said. “And a promise to you. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll guard her with my life.”

She stood still. He walked up another few steps, so that he was just a few feet from her. He held the sword out again, his hand tight on the hilt.

“Take it,” he repeated. “Let’s start over. A truce. Please, Lydia. Let me do this for her. Let me get something right.”

She sheathed her own sword and took the dwarven one silently, staring at the ground. Aside from a slight frown on her face, there was no sign at all that she’d acknowledged what he said.

“Well,” he said. He supposed it was better than nothing. At least he had tried. “Bye.” He turned to head down the stairs. He’d almost gotten to the bottom before she spoke.

“I nearly died, you know.”

He turned around. “What?”

She was holding the dwarven sword up, turning it to examine it. “I nearly died,” she said again, without looking at him. “I’d be dead by now, if it weren’t for her.”

He waited.

“We were in a tomb, near Solitude,” she began, still staring at the sword, like he wasn’t even there. “We got separated somehow, and I was stuck in this little room. The doors wouldn’t open—there was a puzzle, where you had to twist some stones around, and… I didn’t understand it. I got it wrong. It was a trap, and something shot at me. Just a little dart, but it had some sort of paralysis poison. And then I was paralyzed, stuck there, alone, surrounded by all these corpses. I could hear Valerie calling for me, but I couldn’t even answer her. And then, eventually, she stopped calling.”

She took a breath. The light from the window reflected off the golden metal of the sword, making patterns of shadows on the floor.

“I waited for hours. The poison wore off eventually, but by then the candles had burned out, and I couldn’t see anything. I was afraid to close my eyes, thinking that the skeletons would come back to life again, like we’d seen them do before. I screamed and I screamed and I screamed…” She trailed off. “I thought for sure that I’d die in there. Another corpse for the next adventurer to step over.” She gave a little laugh. “I almost went a little crazy, thinking about it. But then, the door opened. And there was Valerie.” She smiled to herself. “She’d fought her way through the rest of the tomb by herself and waited for me. When I didn’t turn up, she went back to the start, fought her way through again, just to find me. She told me she was terrified that I’d died, that she’d find my body somewhere…”

Argis shifted on the stairs, making them creak. He wanted to say something, to reassure her that Valerie never would have left her there, that everything had turned out ok, in the end. But Lydia wasn’t done.

“I was in there a day and a half. A day and a half, awake in the dark, corpses all around me. We got out, and went back to Solitude, and everything was fine, as long as I didn’t think too much about it. But ever since then, every time we’d go into a cave or a tomb or… I’d just… I _freeze_ , Argis.” She looked at him, finally, her face desperate. “I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t fight. Thinking of the dark, the bodies, all that stone over my head…”

“Lydia…” he started.

“I failed her,” she broke in. “I was meant to guard her with my life, and she _saved_ mine. She could have… she could have dismissed me, sent me back to Dragonsreach, dishonored, a housecarl who failed her thane.”

He watched as she hefted the sword in her right hand. It was a good weight for her, he knew.

“But she didn’t,” she said, quietly. “She’s let me keep guard over Breezehome, some of the things she has here, that she says she doesn’t want falling into the wrong hands. She comes back to Whiterun, we eat, we drink, kill a giant, head for a bandit camp. No caves. She’s very careful about where she takes me. But you know the places she goes, there’s no way I can really travel with her again.”

She pointed the sword, then, right at his face. She was several feet away from him, still, but as he looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs, he felt a little bit of fear, at the determined expression on her face.

“I failed her,” she repeated. “I don’t want you to do the same. Don’t fucking fail her, Argis the Bulwark. Don’t let her down.”

He swallowed. “I won’t.”

She gave him a tight nod. “Thanks for the sword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't gotten Lydia stuck in a tomb somewhere, are you even playing Skyrim? LOL. 
> 
> And I know this chapter is a little Sad Panda Argis without too much interaction, but I wanted to tie up some loose threads... and start some new ones :) 
> 
> Onward to Ivarstead!


	21. 7,000 Steps

It took them most of the day to get to Ivarstead. Valerie led them on a path through the mountains south of Whiterun; it was cold and snowy at the top, and made for slow going. The Rift itself was draped in a thin, wispy fog, eerie but beautiful. It was fully autumn here, the trees red, yellow and golden in the late afternoon light. They ran into no enemies but a troll, tearing into the arm of what looked like a Stormcloak soldier on the shallow banks of the Dark Water River. Argis shot arrows and Valerie shot firebolts until it keeled over, the dead soldier’s arm still clamped in its jaws.

“Nice one,” Valerie said, after his final shot made its way into the troll’s third eye. It was the first time they’d spoken in hours.

He nodded at her in return, and she turned away and led him onward.

Ivarstead was a sleepy little village. They arrived at dusk and headed straight for the Vilemyr Inn. When Valerie asked for two rooms, the innkeeper stared at her.

“Wait, I know you... You’ve been here before,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I have,” said Valerie. She smiled brightly.

“Another pilgrimage?”

“Mmm hmm.” She nodded, still smiling.

“Hmm,” he said. He threw a key on the counter. “Only one room left. Ten septims. You’ll be wanting dinner and a bath, too, I suppose?”

“Please,” Valerie said. Her smile stretched wider. “Thank you _so_ much.”

“That’s another 10.” He pointed to his left. “Room’s over there.”

The room was sparse, but had two beds, mirroring each other on opposite walls. Argis dropped his bag at the foot of the one closest to the door.

“Friendly innkeeper,” he mumbled.

“He hates me,” Valerie said, simply. “Hates mages. Erik and I cleared out a barrow nearby, and when we came back to the inn after and he saw my robes”—her voice dropped, mimicking the innkeeper’s strong Nordic accent—‘I’ve got no interest in magic users, no use for their kind at all.’” Her voice returned to normal. “Small-minded jerk, I cleared out the place that’s been haunting the town for years and he gave Erik all the credit.” She sighed, rifling through her bag. “I’m starving, are you? Let’s eat before he tries to poison our dinner.”

“I think…” Argis said, “I think I’ll take a bath first, if that’s all right with you.”

She stopped searching through her bag, looking up at him across the room. “That’s fine. Do you… do you want me to wait for you, or…?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Go ahead and eat. I’m not that hungry yet.”

That was a lie. He was fucking starving, and his stomach growled as he lingered in the bath at the back room of the inn. He had soaked so long his fingers were pruny. He stared up at the ceiling, frowning, then slid under the surface of the water. He opened his eyes; the water made everything wavy and distorted, like a dream.

He knew he was being an asshole. He knew it. But the thought of sitting across from Valerie, watching her silverware flash as she cut her food, the dainty little bites she took, the way she absolutely refused to speak if her mouth was full, how she’d always hold a finger up until she was done chewing—Gods, he even loved watching her eat. How could he do it, just sit there in front of her and pretend that he wasn’t absolutely miserable?

He surfaced, taking a deep breath.

“Well what are you supposed to do, idiot?” he grumbled to himself. The water streamed into his eyes, over his hair, and he pushed it out of his face. “Never eat again? Never talk to her again?”

He’d managed to make things so awkward between them, maybe she’d just send him home.

He rubbed his face with his hands. The water was cooling now, and the air in the room was getting uncomfortably chilly. He washed himself perfunctorily, rebraided his hair, then tied it back and dressed.

He sat by himself in the inn and had his dinner, a bowl of beef stew. There was an overly friendly Bosmer at another table who tried to make conversation, but he grunted out monosyllabic answers to his questions, and after a few attempts, he was left alone.

He ate slowly, but eventually he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer, and he went back to their room.

Valerie was sitting on her bed, combing out her wet hair. She was wearing the white tunic she normally wore to sleep, with a pair of pale grey leggings. Her necklaces and rings were on the little cupboard by her bed, next to a few little vials of different colors. Argis turned away from her, pretending to need something in his rucksack. Without her jewelry, in that big shirt, she looked young and vulnerable, and she made his heart hurt.

He pulled _The Mirror_ out of his bag. Read, he thought. He could read. It was way too early to go to sleep, even if they were waking at dawn to climb the 7,000 steps. He leaned against the wall by the headboard and stared at the pages.

“I got us some mead,” Valerie said, nodding to the table against the wall by the door, where two bottles of Black-Briar mead rested.

“Thanks,” he said. He stared at the pages some more. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Valerie combing something from one of her vials into her hair. It smelled like her, like flowers, like lavender. Her hands were twisting around her head, braiding the wet strands. She uncorked another vial and poured a few drops into her hands, then rubbed her face, her hands, her bare feet. Argis inhaled. Mountain flower.

She finished her little ritual, corking the vials and putting them back in her bag. She settled back against the bed, and Argis heard her flipping open a book. He stared resolutely down at his. He had no idea what page he was meant to be on. He didn’t care.

After a while, Valerie spoke up, her voice soft. “Argis? Are you sure everything’s all right?”

He nodded, still staring at his book. “Fine.”

“It’s just… you’ve barely spoken to me for days now, and… I can tell you’re upset, it’s been 20 minutes and you haven’t even turned a page yet.”

Shit.

“I... I don’t understand what’s wrong. Are you mad at me? Have I done something?” Her voice wavered.

Shit, he thought again. He shook his head, still staring resolutely at his book. “No, Valerie, it’s not you…” Not really. It’s me. I’m a fucking moron and a jerk and I _am_ upset, I’m fucking miserable and I can’t tell you _why_ …

“I don’t believe you, Argis, you’re barely even _looking_ at me,” she said. Her voice cracked, at the end.

He looked at her. Her lower lip was quivering, her eyes shining. Oh, fuck. He was making her cry. Gods.

His misery was making her miserable, too.

“Hey, no, Valerie—” he began. He closed his book, jumping up to cross the room to her. He sat next to her on the bed, put his hand on her shoulder. It felt tight and tense. Her tunic had slipped a bit, like it always did, and he could see the little hollow of her collarbone. He wanted nothing more than to stroke it with his thumb, to press his lips there and taste her as she sighed beneath him. He looked away.

“If you’ll just tell me what I did, let me make it right—”

“You didn't,” he said. “Please don’t… please don’t cry, because of me. Really, I’m fine, it’s…”

She swiped at her eyes. “I just… I just don’t understand why you’re being so… so _cold..._ ” Her voice cracked. “Argis, you’re the only person I have…”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Gods, Valerie, I’m so, so sorry, I truly didn’t mean to upset you, I… I just, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and sometimes I get too in my own head and…” He was babbling, now, desperate to explain himself, to explain away his behavior, the hurt that he was feeling.

She sniffed, pushing some wet hair away from her eyes, where it had fallen out of her braid. “What have… What have you been thinking about?”

“I…” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Well, sometimes, it’s been… I’ve been thinking about my father.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly, and he pushed down the pit of discomfort he felt in his chest at blaming his surly behavior on his dead father.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Gods, of course you have, with Eorlund Gray-Mane and— I’m so sorry, Argis, I’ve been so selfish…”

He shook his head, protesting. “No, no, it’s all right. I didn’t tell you. You couldn’t have known that’s why I was upset. I… I’m sorry, Valerie. I’ll try to be better at…”

“Talking about your feelings?” she asked him. The corner of her mouth turned up in a little smile. “I know how hard that is for most Nord men.”

“That,” he said. “Yes.”

She giggled, and he smiled in response, like a reflex.

You’re the only person I have, too, he thought, staring at her.

She sniffed again, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I thought it was me, I thought I’d…”

“No,” he said. “No, no…” His hand was still on her shoulder. He squeezed it, lightly, then pulled his hand away.

Valerie sat quietly next to him, just inches away. “Well,” she said. “If you ever want to talk… about… about anything, you know I’m here, right?”

He nodded. “I know.”

She exhaled, then turned to look up at him, flashing him a little smile. “Want to see something funny?”

He blinked, grateful for the change in subject. “All right…”

She gestured across the room, at the table with the mead bottles on it. “Watch those bottles.”

He stared at them, feeling a little silly. What was she—

The bottle on the left moved. By itself.

“What the—” he murmured.

Then the bottle on the right started, too. Just a little jiggle. Then the one on the left lifted in the air, and came back down. Then the one on the right did the same.

The bottles raised and lowered themselves, up and down, the left and the right, and Argis turned to Valerie, stunned. “Are you… are you doing this?”

She held up her right hand, which was glowing a pale green. “Remember that spellbook you found at Bruca’s Leap Redoubt? The one about moving objects? It’s called telekinesis. It uses up a lot of my magic, but I’ve been practicing.”

He laughed out loud, turning again to watch the bottles. “Of course you have.”

Valerie made the bottoms of the bottles move forward a bit, one after the other, so they looked like a pair of legs, kicking in a dance. Soon she was dancing them around the table, leaping them over and over, like a two-legged galloping horse.

He laughed again. “You’re amazing,” he told her, still watching the bottles.

“Wanna fuck with the innkeeper before we climb the Throat of the World tomorrow?” she asked.

“Amazing,” he repeated, still laughing. “And so, so… strange.”

“I know,” she said, sounding pleased. She leaned her head against his arm, and the two of them watched the dancing bottles in silence.

He felt relieved, happy again for the first time in days, even though her wet hair was slowly soaking through his shirt sleeve. Eventually he’d be miserable, he knew, the next time it was obvious that she didn’t want him… But with Valerie pressed against him now, soft and warm and smelling like lavender and mountain flower, it was hard to mind.

***

At some point during their trip up the Throat of the World, Valerie stumbled and fell.

The weight of her bag made her tip backwards when she lost her footing, and although he lunged for her, between the weight of his own bag and the deep, thick snow at his feet, he missed, and watched in horror as she slipped backwards down the stairs, shrieking.

Luckily they were only a few steps from a fairly large, flat landing, and she ended up on her back in a big pile of soft snow, falling into it with an “Oof!”

“I’m all right,” she called to him, before he could even manage to get his words out. “I’m fine!”

He hurried over to her, his heart still pounding. She was struggling to get up, but the weight of her pack kept her pulled down.

She wiggled back and forth, moaning. “Oh Gods, I’m like a fucking turtle. Argis, will you—”

“I got ya,” he said, grabbing her hand and tugging her upright. He brushed the snow off her head and her shoulders. “What do you _have_ in that thing, Valerie?”

“Books, mostly,” she muttered, trying to readjust the rucksack on her shoulders. “Some things I want to show Arngeir—he’s one of the Greybeards—”

“Let me take it,” he said, holding his hand out. He pulled the bag from her shoulder as she looked up at him in surprise.

“Well I can’t take yours, Argis, it’s more than half my size…”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. He turned her bag around, putting his arms through the straps so that it rested on his stomach. “See?”

Valerie raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to carry both of them?”

“It’s fine,” he repeated, trying to assure her. “And let me go first, all right? So I can clear a path for you. The snow’s over your knees, you’ve soaked through the bottom of your robes already—”

Valerie looked down, frowning.

“—and it won’t make a difference with my armor. We can’t save the world from Alduin if you freeze to death, or break your neck on the path. Besides, we only have… how many more steps?”

“Couple thousand-ish?” Valerie replied. She shrugged. “Give or take half a thousand?”

Argis tried to give her a smile. He had meant everything he said, but… oh, Gods. He looked up at the mountain. “Perfect.” He turned and started to climb again.

“Some of them are downhill, though,” he heard her say, behind him.

He attempted a laugh. “Even better. Come on, let’s go.”

***

Here was how Argis learned to tell the Greybeards apart:

Arngeir was the only one who talked to them. His beard tied at the bottom, in a little knot. Borri’s beard was the shortest, clipped close to his chin; Wulfgar’s the bushiest; Einarth’s the longest. Einarth seemed to have a soft spot for Valerie; Argis caught him staring at her a few times, smiling in a fond, fatherly way. It made him wonder whether any of them had had families before they came to the mountain, or if they had ever wanted to.

When Arngeir got upset with Valerie for speaking with the Blades, it was Einarth who stuck up for her, booming out something that he couldn’t understand. But Argis knew a lecture when he heard one, and eventually Arngeir got over his grudge. They were sent even further up the mountain to see Paarthurnax, their leader, hidden by a wind so cold it burned when it touched their skin. Valerie shouted it away as they climbed, although one time she missed, and froze a goat.

Paarthurnax, was, of course, a dragon. In hindsight, it seemed obvious—who else would know how to kill the most powerful dragon of all time? Who else could have taught the Greybeards to shout? Who else would live in seclusion, perched on the highest mountain in the country? He figured it out before Valerie did; his wings were torn, threaded thin, and he landed gently, so as not to shake the ground near their feet too badly. Argis could tell that whatever he once was, he was now nothing but an old, retired soldier. But Valerie had already cast her Dragonskin power, her ancestral ability to absorb magic, and she had to greet the leader of the Greybeards and son of Akatosh with her eyes white and her hair crackling with lightning. She apologized, and made Argis one of the only men alive on Nirn to ever hear a dragon laugh.

They stayed at High Hrothgar for several days. When they first met Paarthurnax, Valerie spent hours with him, running through all the shouts she knew, breathing fire and ice and all sorts of things at the air in front of her, while Paarthurnax roared with approval and she beamed with pride. Watching them, Argis was reminded of an old dog his family had when he was a boy—when his sister brought home a puppy, the old dog had lit up, playing and romping and rolling around the grass, like it had forgotten how to be young and happy, but then remembered and didn’t want to stop.

He stayed up there that first afternoon, perched on top of the highest spot he could climb to, half paying attention to their shouting and half just staring out at the view. Valerie went up alone the next day—no one but she and the Greybeards could get up the mountain, she reasoned, so she was perfectly safe—and he stayed at the fortress and wandered the grounds until he found a tower, which he climbed. He sat up there at the top of it for hours, even though it was freezing. He could see Whiterun, and what he reasoned was Windhelm, and perhaps even Winterhold, off in the distance. He thought of his father again, and what he would say if he saw him now, housecarl to the Dragonborn of legend, perched on top of the Throat of the World, wearing ancient Akaviri armor and carrying an ebony sword and a daedric prince’s magic shield.

“Aye, that’s all well and good, but can you can’t even forge a dagger, boy,” he said out loud, in his father’s voice. His father was a smith through and through; grumpy even in death, even in his imagination. “Sorry, da,” he replied, to the wind that howled through the tower. “I can do a lot of things, now, but I still can’t forge a dagger. Hope you don’t mind.” He pictured the face his father used to make when he’d show him his attempts at the forge, a deep frown and a creased, furrowed brow, and laughed to himself until he spotted Valerie coming down from the peak. Then he climbed the tower’s stairs and went to meet her, eager for her company, eager to hear her chatting away nonstop about what she’d learned.

On their last night they had dinner with the Greybeards, at their huge, long table. Valerie cooked, to thank them for their hospitality, and made a stew with some of the ingredients a man from Ivarstead had brought up for them: duck; some nuts, which Valerie ground up; and a sweet, syrupy, fruity wine. She put him in charge of the rice, which he had never cooked before; he burnt some of it to the bottom of the pan, but no one seemed to care.

Argis and Valerie had normally taken their meals together in the little room the Greybeards had offered them—nothing fancy, just dried meats and cheese and bread. After a few days he was looking forward to something hot, although he thought it might be awkward to share a meal with three silent priests. But Arngeir and Valerie talked enough for the six of them, and Einarth, Borri, and Wulfgar quietly chortled, rolled their eyes and smirked at appropriate times. The food was good, even though the rice was a little crunchy, and the whole atmosphere seemed infused with a sense of lightheartedness, even hope. They could do this—they could defeat Alduin.

Their next destination was to the College of Winterhold, Valerie had told him, so she could talk to the librarian, who should know enough to help her or at least point her in the right direction. Argis, despite all his fears of magic—most of them admittedly now faded—was looking forward to going to the college, to seeing where Valerie had lived and learned long before she met him, long before she had known who she was and what she had to do.

He watched her laughing at Arngeir’s story, her cheeks red from the wine and the heat of the fire. She had done something different with her hair after she’d bathed before, tied it back from her face with two long braids, and put a little sprig of mountain flower by her ear. She caught him staring at her, and he smiled.

***

He went to sleep happy, but in the dark, the nightmares found him. There were fights and there was dust and there was blood; his friends were on the ground, their insides spilling onto the dirt as they scrambled to stand and defend themselves. He was running to help them, screaming and brandishing his sword, but then there was a hagraven, and his face was burning, bleeding, and he couldn’t see for the blood in his eyes, and he fell to his knees.

When he wiped the blood away and opened his eyes and stood, he was back there again, back where it all started. He was 16 and watching his father fight the briarheart in the lightning cloak, trying to keep the rest of the Forsworn from breaking through the mountain pass to his village. The houses were shut and drawn tight behind him, quiet as a graveyard. There were people coming to help them, he told himself, as he gripped his wooden shield and iron sword in his shaking hands. There had to be, there was no way he and his father could hold off a whole Forsworn attack _alone_ —

Lightning flashed from the briarheart’s fingers, arcing across the pass to his father’s chest. There was a strangled scream and a last, desperate glance, and his father was on the ground, dead.

Argis was crying out, shouting, but the blood rushing around his head was so loud, and he could see the briarheart laughing, lightning still swirling around him, his hand outstretched and glowing with a strange blue light—and his father was… he was getting _up_! Argis felt his heart soaring with happiness—his father was all right, he was getting to his feet, against all odds he was still alive, still—

No.

Not alive.

Not alive, Argis thought. He wanted to run, but his feet were frozen, trapped. _Not alive, not alive, not…_

The dead body of his father rose, turning and walking to him in disjointed, jerky motions, a puppet on the briarheart’s string of magic. His father brandished his war axe, hefting and swinging it at his only son, his eyes blank and unfocused, and Argis screamed, covering his face with his shield—

But the blow never came, and as he waited for it, trembling, the loud, stumbling footsteps faded away, replaced by soft, delicate ones, a swish of robes, a jangle of jewelry. Argis pulled the shield back from his face and turned to look, knowing and dreading what he’d see but needing to do it anyway…

_Valerie._

Valerie, dead and rotting, her face gray and mottled with bruises and dried blood. Her robes were torn, her skin riddled with claw marks and cuts and slashes, one eye swollen shut and purpled, the other blank and unfocused, but accusing him, still.

“I died,” the body of Valerie said, in that lilting voice of hers, and oh Gods, Argis wanted to tear at his skin in grief. “I died, and you weren’t there. Where were you, Argis? Where were you when I needed you? Why didn’t you keep me safe?”

“I’m sorry,” he cried. He dropped his weapons to the ground and fell to his knees again, crawling over to her, sobbing. “I’m so sorry.” He put his arms around her waist, tried to pull her closer to him, bury his face at her side, but she just stood there, unmoved. “I’m so sorry, Valerie, I’m so sorry, I’m so…”

He knelt there and cried on his knees, his face pushed into her robes, clinging to her like a child, and ashes fell around them like rain.

Eventually he became aware of a soft noise, a soothing, crooning hum. Someone was stroking his face, his hair, whispering to him, telling him to open his eyes, that he was safe, that he was all right, that he needed to wake up, to please, please wake up—

—and he did, gasping. The first thing he saw was a little ball of light, sparkling above him, then Valerie’s face, her relieved smile.

She was still stroking his hair.

“There you are,” she said, her voice gentle. “See? Everything’s all right, I’m fine, you’re fine. Gods, Argis, you had me so worried.”

“What—” he mumbled. “What…”

“You were having a nightmare,” she explained. “You were shouting, saying my name over and over, but I couldn’t get you to wake up…”

Gods, how embarrassing. He closed his eyes, trying to push the horrible images from his dream out of his mind, but Valerie’s hand on his hair felt so comforting, so soothing, that he fought back a sob.

The words came out before he could stop himself. “You were dead,” he told her, his voice cracking. He spoke up to the ceiling, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see her face. “You were dead and it was my fault and you…”

Valerie made a sad, wordless noise of concern, then stood from where she was kneeling, next to his bed. He wanted to cry again, at the loss of her hand on his hair, but then she was lifting up his blanket and wriggling into the bed next to him, warm and soft against him, wrapping her arm around his bare chest and settling her hand on his skin.

Oh, Gods… was it possible he was _still_ dreaming?

“It wasn’t real, Argis. I’m not dead,” she said. Her head was resting on his arm, by his shoulder, and her voice vibrated against his skin. She gave his other shoulder a squeeze. “See? Not dead.”

“Not dead,” he repeated. He swallowed. She was right, but everything before she had appeared in his dream... that had all happened. Did that make it a nightmare, or a memory? “It was real, though, the first part of the dream. My father, he… He was there. He was dead, too. And he… he’s gone.”

Valerie’s voice was a whisper. “But I’m still here.”

His arm was wrapped around her, and slowly, he let his hand fall to where it would naturally, at the curve of her waist. When she didn’t flinch away, just kept on lying right there next to him like it was the easiest, simplest thing to do, he exhaled a deep breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.

They lay there in silence, Valerie’s thumb rubbing softly at the skin of his shoulder. Argis stared up at the darkened ceiling, trying to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms, curled up next to him in his bed, touching him and comforting him—but he couldn’t stop thinking of her accusing stare, her dead eyes, and his father’s body, lurching toward him and swinging his war axe.

“I used to be scared all the time, you know,” Valerie said, breaking through the quiet.

“What… what do you mean?”

“When I first found out I was the Dragonborn. I was terrified. I cried myself to sleep almost every night. I was so, so scared of dying, or being hurt, or _failing_ …”

“But…” he ventured. “Now?”

Her thumb rubbed at his shoulder. “Well, now,” she said. “Now… I have you.”

His hand tightened at her waist in response, and she still didn’t flinch away.

“Valerie, I… I want to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

Her hand stilled. “Yes?”

I love you, he thought. I love you so much, and I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I want to fight for you, to fight by your side forever.

But there was something inside of him, some part of his heart that was still tied tight, unable to let go. He was so used to keeping everything tucked away, bottled up, pushed down. Of not letting anything get to him, of not letting anything get through.

He was so used to having to be strong. Of having to be Argis. The Bulwark.

Yet Valerie had been slowly chipping away at his walls since he met her. She had gotten her little hands into him somehow, under his skin, into the cracks in his foundation, the chinks in his armor. Her arrival in Markarth had torn him away from his monotonous routine, forced him to confront his fears and his prejudices and leave his familiar, steady life. She had pulled him out of the Reach, taken him to the Throat of the World, and brought him face to face with a dragon—twice. She had pushed him into battle to fight alongside her magic, her fire and her lightning and her enchantments, forced him to work with what he feared most until he knew that he was a better warrior for it. A better man because of all of it.

He wanted to tell her all those things. He wanted to tell her everything. But he didn’t know how.

But there was one story that he could tell her. One that he replayed in his mind, each time he let it wander. One that he saw, over and over again, when his eyes closed, when he dreamed, when he looked up at the stars. One that still affected him and everything he did, each swipe of his sword, each word that he said, each step that he walked. Every choice that he made.

And he wanted, needed her to know it.

“I want to tell you how my father died,” he told her. “I want to tell you about my father and… and how I killed him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops mic, walks away...* 
> 
> Ha. I know that most of you have probably figured out that Argis' father was killed by a briarheart with magic, and that some of you would have figured out that the briarheart resurrected him. But did any of you think that the briarheart would have made Argis' father try to kill him? I thought that was especially twisted of me, so kudos if your mind is just as creepy as mine! 
> 
> Anyway both this reveal - and also cuddling! - have been a long time coming. Thanks for sticking around so long, would love to know what you think :)


	22. The Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for this chapter! I had a busy month and not a lot of writing time, but I promise I'm not dead :)

So he told her.

He told her about the briarheart in the lightning cloak, coming down the narrow mountain pass that led to their village. Their house was closest to the edge, the first one travelers would come across, and his sister had seen the briarheart from the window, his spell lighting up the valley. She had screamed, and dropped the plate she was holding—Argis remembered watching it fall to the ground, like in slow motion, and split down the center. They had been about to eat dinner.

(Nearly a decade later, Argis found the plate at the bottom of a cupboard in the kitchen. Someone had tried to fix it, badly, and buried it beneath all the others, like they were ashamed of their efforts but didn’t have the heart to throw it away.)

He wished he could remember what his father had said to him, when he grabbed his war axe from its place over the fire, tugging on Argis’ arm and dragging him out the door. Maybe there would have been some wisdom in there, somewhere, something that Argis could use to justify what had happened. Something about bravery. Something about protecting his home, the ones he loved.

What he did remember, though, was his mother, terrified, screaming, “Arvild, no, he’s just a boy!” And then the door was swinging closed in his mother’s face and his father was pulling him to the forge and shoving a sword and a shield in his hand, and then they were heading up to the pass to meet the briarheart. Argis could hear the army of the Forsworn, whooping and shrieking, just out of sight.

He told Valerie that he looked back, once. Through the window, he could see his mother screaming still, his sister holding her arms down, trying to pull her back from the door.

He wished he could remember how his father fought the briarheart. Was it a good fight? Was it fair? Was his father brave and valiant and everything that a Nord man is supposed to be when faced with an enemy? But he was young, and scared, and shaking, and before he knew it there was lightning, flinging from the briarheart’s hands and arcing across the pass, and his father screamed. He looked at Argis before he died, desperate and afraid, and Argis came so close to understanding what he was trying to say—but it then was too late, and his father was dead.

And then he wasn’t.

He told Valerie about the blue light. The briarheart laughing. How he had hoped, like a child, like a fool, that he had been mistaken, and his father wasn’t dead—that he was still alive and coming to help him, was still alive and would protect him, would kill the briarheart and the Forsworn lurking behind him and it would all be over, like a nightmare that had never happened.

But he was wrong. He was a child, a fool. He had never seen magic before, not even a healing spell, and he had no concept of what was happening to his father, no understanding of why he was now lurching toward his only son, menacing, terrifying, with blank, empty eyes.

And then his dead father had attacked him, swinging his war axe. The same war axe that he had used during the Great War, that hung on a plaque over their hearth, and had been, for all of Argis’ life to that point, an artifact of another time, of another version of his father, something meant only for display.

But there it was, swinging at his face, and Argis backed up and dodged and dodged again, his shield denting until edge of it splintered off, until finally he was trapped against the hard edge of the mountain, and had to fight back, or die.

So he fought back. He fought back and he could still remember every move he used, how even then they’d been branded into his mind because his father had been the one who’d taught him how to use a weapon and carry a shield. His father had been the one who’d taught him how to hold a sword, how to wield it, how to block and how to parry and how to kill with it. Just in case.

“Just in case,” his father had told him. He had been only a child when his lessons had started. “The Great War is over, son… But… just in case.”

And he used those same moves on his own father. And eventually, he won.

His father’s eyes were empty as his body turned to ash in front of him. Everything that had been Arvild Strong-Shield went to dust in a pile at his son’s feet, the war axe clattering to the ground beside it.

He told Valerie about how he had turned to the briarheart then, his blood and his heart full of something that he now knew was bloodlust, his whole world narrowed to one point: pain and anger and a white-hot rage. And it all flowed through him and out of his weapon, and soon the briarheart was dead on the ground. In the end, the briarheart was just another body. Even his magic couldn’t save him.

There were more Forsworn, after that, all coming down the mountain at once. But Argis couldn’t be moved, and he fought them all, one by one, the tight spacing of the stone trapping them together and working to his advantage. Eventually some of the village did come to help him, but they weren’t warriors—they farmed cabbage, they raised sheep, they made shoes—and in the end, they died, too.

Argis didn’t know why he wasn’t with the rest of the villagers, on the ground with an arrow through their eye or a dagger in their stomach. He didn’t know why they were dead and he wasn’t. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t strong. He had never really, truly, fought anything in his life. He had always just been Argis, the blacksmith’s son.

But now… Now he was something, someone else.

And he told Valerie about how when it was all over, he collapsed with his back against the stone, his eyes shut tight so he didn’t have to look at the bodies of the Forsworn and the bodies of the villagers he knew—men and women who had helped to raise him, who had taught him, who had shouted at him for sneaking a chicken egg or a sweetroll cooling on the window when he thought nobody was looking. He waited in silence. It was almost dark.

His mother found him first, and wept with happiness that he was still alive. But then—

“Where’s your father?” she had asked him. “Argis, where’s your da?”

He pointed to the pile of ashes a dozen feet away, already half gone on the wind. The crazed, inhuman noise she made as she saw the remains of her husband was something that would be burned in his memory for his entire life.

And so the next day, when the Imperial troop arrived to help burn the bodies of the Forsworn and bury what remained of the village dead, he left with them.

And he told himself that it was because he wanted to help what was left of his family. Because his sister was too young and too inexperienced to take over the forge yet, because his mother couldn’t make a living on the little sewing jobs she did occasionally, late at night by the fire.

But it wasn’t true.

He left because he couldn’t look at his mother’s face, knowing that he’d killed his father. He wasn’t even sure that she knew what had happened; he found out later that his sister had finally succeeded in pulling her away from the door, to hide under the table until the screams had stopped. But he never said it. And she never, ever asked.

He left because he couldn’t look the rest of his village in the eye, knowing that he was alive and their loved ones were dead. Dead because they had come to help him, to protect him. Knowing that if things had been different—if he had been faster, or stronger—that they might still be alive instead of buried under several feet of newly tilled soil, filling up the little graveyard so quickly that there was barely any space left.

He left because he couldn’t face his sister, who knew him better than he knew himself, knew every expression on his face and could read every thought before he had even voiced it. She would figure it out, eventually. She had always been the clever one.

He had been quiet in the cart down to Markarth, trying not to think of his mother’s confused, devastated face, the silent tears rolling down his sister’s cheeks as he said goodbye to them. He didn’t know when he’d be back, he told them, but he’d send money. Like that would make up for anything.

He told himself it would.

“Is it true, then?” one of the soldiers had asked him. He’d looked to be only a couple of years older than him, with a smattering of acne across his cheeks and cropped red hair. “You held off a whole band of Forsworn by yourself, kept them from attacking your village?”

He told Valerie that he had shrugged, not trusting his voice, not wanting to talk about his father or the rest of the village that had tried to help, and died in their failing.

The soldier had shaken his head. “Like a wall, eh? A regular fucking bulwark.”

It was meant as a joke. He was tall, for his age, six foot exactly and not even at his full height yet. But he was also skinny, his limbs long and gangly, his stance awkward, and if anyone looked like they could be a bulwark, it certainly wasn’t him.

But, he told Valerie, as the years passed, and he kept growing up and filling out, and he became known for his strength, his skill in battle, his abilities with his sword and his shield... and eventually the name started to fit. Eventually people began to forget that he had been given it as a joke, because the Imperial soldiers couldn’t believe that a skinny kid like him could hold off a Forsworn attack. And eventually he was The Bulwark before he was Argis, and it was how nearly everyone in the Legion and the city of Markarth addressed him, with the exception of maybe Vorstag and Faleen and…

“And you,” he finished. His throat hurt from speaking. He had never talked so much in his life.

“And me,” Valerie said.

It was the first time she’d said a word for nearly an hour. She had stayed tucked against his arm as he spoke, not moving, not making a sound. One or twice his chest felt wet, and he knew that she’d been crying, silently. His own face was wet, too.

“Yeah,” Argis said. He felt wrung out, worn and tired. He wondered what time it was. He rubbed his eyes, his face, with the hand that wasn’t curled around Valerie. “So. So that’s what happened.” It was a stupid end to something so important, but she didn’t laugh, and he was glad for it.

She sighed against him, then shifted, sitting up. He frowned, sad at the warmth of her leaving his side, and sat up too, not wanting to keep lying there without her. She crossed her legs in front of her, tucking her ankles under her thighs, and pulled his hand into her lap.

He stared at it.

“First of all…” she said. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Argis, for telling me that story. Thank you for sharing it. I know it must have been hard, so… thank you.”

He nodded, still staring at his own hand, clasped in her small ones. He didn’t trust his voice.

“Second…” she said. “I know I told you that I don’t raise the dead, Argis, but…”

He looked up.

“...but I know how. I mean,” she amended, “I’ve never done it, but… I know how it works, I’ve read the books, I’ve talked to…” She shook her head. “Anyway. You should know… That wasn’t him, Argis, that you fought. That wasn’t your father.”

He nodded. Deep down, he supposed he did know that. But still…

She was looking at him earnestly now, her eyes studying his own. The little candlelight spell she had conjured had faded long ago and there was hardly any light in the room, but he could still see the contrast of her dark curls against her pale face.

He could tell her eyes in the dark anywhere.

“When you summon a creature,” she explained, “like I do, with the atronachs, you take a soul from one plane and pull it into this one. When you reanimate a body… Argis, that’s all it is. A body. The conjurer takes part of himself, part of his intent, and puts it into the body. It’s like… It’s an empty vessel that they fill. Because the part of that body that made it a person… That part’s already gone.”

Her voice was so gentle as she told him this, still clasping his hand. He nodded again, feeling his throat closing once more. Gods. He was crying more tonight than he’d cried in the last half of his life.

“And Argis, you know that what happened with that briarheart, what he did, what he made you do to your father—you didn’t have a choice. Please be kind to yourself, you… No one would blame you.”

He knew she was right. He’d always known it, really, tried to tell himself that he had been as brave as he could, that anyone else would have done the same—but hearing it from Valerie helped more than he could have ever known it would. It felt like something was loosening, unravelling inside him, like the constant strain on his shoulders had lessened, a little bit.

She squeezed his hand, then let it go. He pulled it away from her, reluctantly.

“And… finally… I… Well, I want to apologize.”

He frowned. “What— For what?”

She was staring down, not meeting his eye. “For when… When we first fought together, and I sprung that I was a mage on you, and I had no idea—”

He started to protest, but she talked over him.

“I had no idea, I wouldn’t have— Gods, I feel so stupid now, I remember just shoving those enchanted necklaces at you and telling you to watch out for my lightning spells, what an absolute _bitch_ you must have thought I was—”

“No,” he broke in. “Valerie, no, you couldn’t have known what had happened. And yeah, all right, I was scared shitless—”

She giggled. “Really?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Uh, yeah? I mean one second I think you’re this sweet little Breton noblewoman—”

“What?” she squeaked.

“—with your jewelry and your nice dresses and your table manners and then all of a sudden you’re this crazy ferocious witch and you’re killing Forsworn left and right and you have fucking firebolts and lightning bolts coming out of your _hands_ —” He paused, to take a breath. “That was… unexpected.”

She giggled again. “And then there was that whole Dragonborn thing…”

He smiled, remembering the moment that he had finally figured it out, when he’d seen her come through the dragonfire, still fighting, when he fell to his knees and watched her breathing flames, convinced that he was seeing some sort of goddess in human form. “Yeah,” he said. “There was that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, smiling at each other in the darkness. Then, without warning, Argis gave a huge yawn, struggling to cover it with his hand.

Valerie laughed quietly. “I guess we should sleep, huh? I think we still have a few hours left until dawn.”

They both looked over at the bed Valerie had chosen for herself, across the room. It seemed, to Argis, cold and uninviting and much too far away from the warmth of his own bed, the cozy little nest they had made for themselves while they were talking, curling into the blankets.

He could see Valerie frowning slightly, and he thought maybe she agreed.

“You can…” he began. “If you want, you don’t have to— You can—”

Thankfully, she seemed to understand what he was getting at. “All right,” she said, softly.

He laid back down, then waited as she turned to curl herself into his side once more, her head settling against his arm, her hand by his shoulder. Every move was careful, deliberate, with none of the ease with which she had gotten into his bed to comfort him earlier. When she had settled against him fully, he brought his arm to fall around her waist again. They both exhaled, relaxing into each other.

“Goodnight, Valerie.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Goodnight.”

He fell asleep immediately, heavily. When he woke, he felt good, refreshed, cleansed somehow, like something dark had been taken from him. Valerie was still next to him, but she had shifted; her back was pressed into his side, now, her hand resting gently on his forearm. He craned his neck, trying to see her face without waking her, but all he could see was her dark curls, spread over his bare chest and his arm.

It tickled, a little.

He knew that he should get up. There were no windows in their room, but he could tell that it was nearly dawn. They were leaving today. Valerie wanted to be off the mountain by the afternoon so they could get started on their trek to Winterhold, and she wanted the two of them to say goodbye to Paarthurnax before they left.

Valerie breathed gently next to him, her body rising and falling slowly against his, her breath warm on his arm. Argis watched her, trying in vain not to let his mind wander, not to think of taking his free hand and settling it on her hip, sliding it up along the curve of her waist. Or maybe down, so he could feel the soft flesh of her—

Quit it, he told himself, blinking himself out of the beginnings of another fantasy. He shifted in the bed, knowing that if _he_ didn’t get up soon, his cock would. With the mortifying thought of poking Valerie in the side with his morning glory, he extricated himself out from around her, gently sliding his arm out from under her hand, and slipped a pair of boots and his shirt before heading outside.

It was still dark, although he could hear birds chirping in the trees. He faced the east, where the sky was just beginning to lighten. He had originally come out here just to think, to clear his mind, but now he headed to the tower.

Once he climbed it, he turned and sat on the cold stone, waiting to see the morning sunrise. He took a breath. Like he had when he woke up this morning, he felt different. Lighter, like he’d been cleansed of something that had been haunting him for too long.

He thought of Valerie’s explanation of necromancy, what the briarheart did to the body of his father. The thought that something of his father had still been in his body when he had attacked Argis had bothered him for years, a stray thought that was always tugging at his mind. Had he wanted to hurt his son? Had he not? Argis wasn’t sure which was worse.

An empty vessel to fill, Valerie had called it. What was a body without its soul? And what was he, now, that he didn’t have this secret holding him down, this darkness that had filled him for so long?

There were still a few stars twinkling, in the darkened part of the sky. Where did the soul of his father rest, now that he knew it wasn’t trapped on Nirn by a necromancer? Now that Argis didn’t feel the ghost of his father tethered to him, haunting him? Talking to Valerie had made him feel like he’d cut the tether loose, finally freeing himself after all this time. “Where are you?” he whispered.

“Could ask you the same question,” said Valerie, and Argis jumped, turning to see her standing in the tower’s doorway. She was smiling at him. “Hi. I woke up and you were gone.”

He smiled back. “I didn’t want to wake you up. Thought I’d watch the sunrise from here, before we leave.” He patted the cold stone next to him, and Valerie sat, crossing her legs beneath her. She had carried a little fur blanket with her, one from the bed they had shared, and she had it pulled across her shoulders.

They watched the sun rise together in silence. Valerie’s breath made little white clouds when she exhaled, like she was a tiny dragon. Argis smiled to himself. He didn’t mind the cold, but she must have been freezing. And yet, here she was, out here with him anyway, watching the new day dawn.

“Argis?”

“Hmm?” The sun was almost fully over the horizon, filling the sky with pinks and purples. The stars had already faded.

“If your father hadn’t died, and you hadn’t joined the Legion… What do you think you’d be doing now?”

“Huh.” He frowned, glancing at the stone under his feet. “I dunno. I… I’ve never really thought about it, I guess.”

“Well… think about it!” she teased.

He did. He thought about sitting at the top of the tallest mountain in Skyrim, looking at the sun rise over the land below, slowly filling the sky with light as it climbed over Morrowind and beyond. “I think… something where I could travel…” His stomach growled. “And eat.”

She laughed. “I’m sure there’s a market somewhere for a traveling cheese merchant.”

“Sounds good to me,” he told her. It did. “What about you? If your parents hadn’t died… what would you be doing?”

“Hmm.” She pulled her legs out from under her and pressed her knees to her chest. “Well, I guess I’d be working with them. That’s what I was going to the college for, to learn enchanting so that I could start working at their shop. A silversmith with an in-house enchanter is pretty rare, they thought it would help their business.”

“Couldn’t you learn enchanting in Daggerfall?” he asked. “Why’d they make you go all the way to Winterhold?”

“The master wizard at Winterhold is my mother’s friend, from when she was a girl. I guess she’s kind of like an aunt to me. I think they thought I’d get into less trouble there, that I’d have someone to keep an eye on me.”

“Did it work?”

“Eh…” she said. She glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, shrugging a little, and he laughed.

“Is that what _you_ wanted to do?” he asked. “Enchanting what they made?”

“Nah,” she said. She rested her chin on her knee, staring off the mountain in front of them. “You know, for a while, when I first came to Skyrim, I thought that maybe when I settled down somewhere I could open up… a little school, or something like that.”

“A school?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. For kids who had an aptitude for magic, who were too young to go to Winterhold. Maybe their parents couldn’t teach them, or didn’t know how, or were afraid… It can be hard to control, when you don’t know what you’re doing. Frightening. Some of the Nord students at the college were at a real disadvantage, when they first came. They’d spent their lives hiding their abilities, and it was hard for them to let all of that go.”

“Huh,” he said. He knew she liked children—she had told him that while she was traveling she’d spent time in Hammerfell and Cyrodiil as a nanny for several noble families, and had tutored some in enchanting and conjuration, along with basic things like reading and writing. He thought of her hugging Lucia and the widow’s daughter in Whiterun, playing hide and seek with the little girl by the mine outside Markarth with the shaggy dog, teasing Adara by the little bridge. “Where would you put it? The school?”

She shrugged. “I own some land in Falkreath, believe it or not.”

He huffed a laugh. “I believe it. Well… maybe that’ll be our next project. After we defeat Alduin. I’ve never tried to build anything, much less a school, but… We could try.”

She looked at him, then, staring openly, scrutinizing his face. She looked so long that he had to look away from her, glancing down at the ground.

“What?” he murmured, feeling shy and a little exposed.

“You really think…” she began. “You really think I can beat him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” he said, surprised. “Valerie, I… Of course! I know that you can. We,” he corrected. “We can. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Not much call for a traveling cheese salesman at a magic school in Falkreath,” she said. Her eyes were shining, her voice thick, and he wondered if she was holding back tears.

“We’ll figure something out,” he told her. “I'm not going anywhere. I’ll do whatever you need.” 

She smiled, the little one that he loved, where the corner of her mouth turned up. Then she reached over, and took his hand.

Something had changed between them, since last night. It wasn’t quite what he had hoped for, it wasn’t quite what he had imagined, the night in Whiterun when she had asked him to stay.

She rubbed her thumb gently, softly against his.

It was small but it was something, and it meant more to him than he could ever describe.

“Argis?” she said, after they had sat in silence for a while.

“Yeah?”

“I think my ass is frozen to the ground.”

He laughed then, so loudly that he startled a flock of birds in a nearby tree, which made Valerie laugh too, and then he laughed harder. He watched them fly off, squawking indignantly, while he and Valerie shook with laughter, staring out over Skyrim from the Throat of the World, the sun rising in the distance, the birds taking flight all around them, filling the sky.

He felt strangely, wonderfully, almost painfully happy to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this chapter but I'm going ahead and posting it anyway, just so I can get something up and move on. I hope it's not too terrible. 
> 
> Next, north, to Winterhold!


	23. Vahlok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for rape threats, fantasy racism, and Rolff Stone-Fist being Rolff Stone-Fist.*

Before they left High Hrothgar, they went back up to the top of the mountain to see Paarthurnax. The way up was blisteringly cold again, although Valerie shouted away the worst of it. When they reached the summit, the dragon was perched on his wall, stretched out like a cat in the sun. He lifted his head as they approached, and showed them a mouthful of teeth as long as Argis’ fingers, which Argis assumed was the dragon version of a smile.

“I’ve thought about what word I’d like to meditate on,” Valerie called to the dragon.

When Paarthurnax spoke, Argis could feel the rumble of his voice through his boots. “Hmm. What word calls you to deeper understanding, Dovahkiin?”

They stopped in front of the wall. Valerie squared her shoulders. “Fus,” she said.

Paarthurnax nodded his great head. “Of course. It is called 'force' in your tongue. But as you push the world, so does the world push back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is 'fus.' Let its meaning fill you. You will push the world harder than it pushes back."

Argis thought about that phrase, waiting quietly off to the side, leaning against the cold stone of the mountain while Valerie and Paarthurnax meditated in front of the dragon’s crumbling wall. _You will push the world harder than it pushes back._ He thought of Valerie, relentless in her quest, moving forward even as people pulled at her in all directions—to kill a bandit leader, to retrieve a ring, to help a friend, a father, a son. How she kept giving herself, even when everyone was ungrateful, even when they looked at her and thought she would fail.

_You will push the world harder than it pushes back._

When Valerie was done, Paarthurnax bid them farewell. “Trust your instincts. Your blood will show you the way,” he intoned. “Safe travels, Dovahkiin.”

Then he looked at Argis, his eyes dark and ancient. Argis thought he seemed lonely, and tired, and unspeakably sad.

“Safe travels, Vahlok,” the dragon said.

***

They went east, first, and then north, journeying via Kynesgrove and Windhelm; Valerie had errands to do in each. It took them so long to get down off the Throat of the World, and then down out of the mountains of the Rift, that by the end of the first day, they had barely made it anywhere. Argis felt like they’d spent hours walking back and forth and back and forth along the edge of a mountain, just trying to come down.

The sun started dropping as they were picking their way through the sulfurous swamps of Eastmarch. Valerie had been alternating between scanning the horizon and picking some of the plants that grew there; at one point, she bent down by the edge of the river and cast a lightning spell. Half a dozen salmon floated to the surface.

“There’s no way we can eat that many,” he said, blinking. She had gathered them up from the river and was tying them together with some twine. One twitched, and she flicked a spark at it from her finger. It stilled. “I mean, I’m pretty hungry, but I can eat two, maybe three, tops…”

“You’re always hungry,” she said, laughing. “Anyway, they’re not all for us.” She pointed north, where Argis could make out the dark tendrils of smoke from someone’s fire. “Come on.”

That someone turned out to be a group of hunters, who were bathing, nude, in one of the pools next to a few tents. Argis stared up at the sky, his face reddening, as Valerie greeted them and acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to come across a group of naked people lounging in the wilds of Eastmarch. She offered them the salmon and jazbay grapes, and in return the hunters offered them one of their tents for the night. From their conversation, it seemed like she’d come across them before.

He felt a light touch on his forearm. “You can look now,” Valerie said. He could tell she was trying not to laugh. “They’re putting their clothes back on.”

After a fully-clothed dinner of salmon, he spent an uncomfortable night in the small hunting tent, back to back with Valerie, doing his best not to imagine her bathing naked, while she slept undisturbed.

At Kynesgrove, they headed to the mine first, where Valerie rifled through her bag and produced a load of frost salts for an exhausted-looking Dunmer woman. Delighted, she gave Valerie a spellbook—one with a tree on its cover, which Argis now knew meant an alteration book.

Valerie looked thrilled as she paged through it, waiting at the Braidwood Inn for their evening meal. Argis had just come back from setting their things in the room the innkeeper, Iddra, had rented to them. He’d had an awkward conversation with her, where she bemoaned her husband and sang the praises of a man who, from what Argis could figure, seemed to be the local drunk who wouldn’t pay his bar tab.

Valerie glanced up from the spellbook as he slid onto the bench across from her. “Have a scintillating talk with Iddra?”

He snorted, looking around to make sure she wasn’t there to overhear. “Why’s she so obsessed with this Roggi Knot-Beard character?”

Valerie turned a page. “Pretty sure they’re sleeping together.”

Argis raised his eyebrows. “She’s married, though. She told me.”

“Her husband isn’t exactly faithful either. He actually made a pass at me, the first time I was here. I’d literally _just_ killed a dragon that Alduin resurrected, came staggering back to the inn covered in blood, half my hair burnt to a crisp, and he looks at me and says—” She glanced up at Argis, adopting a smarmy expression and raising one of her dark eyebrows. “‘My wife’s a good woman, but every man needs a little variety, you know.’”

Argis gaped at her. “What did you say?”

“That if he didn’t get out of my face, I’d set him on fire. He backed off then, but he didn’t really leave me alone until he saw me sitting with Erik, later that night. I think he thought we were together. Anyway, his wife can sleep with all of Eastmarch for all I care.”

Argis frowned. “Huh.”

Valerie shrugged her shoulders and made a face, turning another page in her spellbook.

“What, uh…” Argis mumbled, trying to change the subject. “What spellbook’s that?” He felt uncomfortable, thinking of someone speaking like that to Valerie, and he knew that the more he thought about it, the angrier he’d get.

Valerie’s eyes lit up. “Ebonyflesh! It’s an alteration spell, stronger than the ironflesh one I use now. If I can figure it out, it’ll be a real game changer. But I think I’ll need to see the alternation master at the college first before I attempt it. I don’t want to actually turn myself to ebony.” She grinned.

“That… that can happen?” asked Argis, feeling vaguely dizzy.

Valerie nodded, solemn. “Oh, yes. There’s a grove at the college, full of oak trees that used to be novice alteration mages, who were transformed after their attempts at the oakflesh spell backfired.”

“Oh,” said Argis. “That’s… that’s…”

Valerie blinked, then burst out laughing, reaching across the table to touch his arm. “I’m kidding! Oh, Argis—your face!” She laughed louder. “I’m sorry, you’re just so easy. No, that doesn’t really happen. I promise that people don’t get turned into trees at the College of Winterhold.”

He exhaled in relief.

“It’s much more likely that the novice destruction mages would set themselves on fire,” Valerie continued cheerfully. “But that’s what the novice restoration mages are for!” Her eyes locked on to a point behind his shoulder, and she pushed the spellbook off to the side. “Oh good, look, food’s here!”

Argis swallowed. “Oh. Great.”

***

Windhelm was cold, gritty, dreary, and gray. Although it was only early afternoon when they crossed the long bridge to the city’s gates, it felt like it was nearly dinner. Around them the people hurried from one destination to the other, their cloaks and hoods drawn tight against the dusting of snow falling from the sky.

Valerie had pulled her own cloak around her and drawn her own hood up. Before they’d gotten within sight of Windhelm, she’d pulled off her mage robes and shoved them in her rucksack. She was wearing a long dress underneath her cloak, and leggings beneath that, but she was still shivering.

“We should go to the inn,” he told her, nodding over at the building across from the gates. A sign swinging from a post in front of it read ‘Candlehearth Hall.’ “You need a fire, Valerie.”

She shook her head, grabbing him by the elbow and tugging him off to the right. “Not yet. I’ll be fine. I need to make another delivery, first.”

To their left was a small alleyway, rundown and grimy, with a crooked staircase, the stones of the wall cracked and crumbling into pebbles.

“What’s that lead to?” he asked her.

She glanced over. “The Gray Quarter. A slum where Ulfric Stormcloak makes the Dunmer in Windhelm live.” Her mouth was set in a tight line. “Come. We’re going to the docks.”

Argis followed, looking back at the alley. A red, moth-eaten banner hanging from a window fluttered in the wind.

They headed through a heavy set of doors, then down a narrow staircase. Valerie’s breath was making little white clouds as she exhaled.

“Put your robes back on,” he urged her, as he followed her down the steps. “You’re going to freeze.”

She shook her head again. “Not here.”

He sighed, and kept following.

She led him to the docks, and Argis stopped short at the sight of dozens of Argonian dockworkers scurrying back and forth on the walkway by the wall and the docks between the boats.

Someone walked into him from behind. “Sorry,” Argis said turning around. “Sorry, brother, I wasn’t—”

It was an Argonian. A male, dressed in threadbare clothes, carrying a wooden crate. The horns around his head flexed and he hissed at Argis in annoyance, then brushed past him and turned left onto one of the docks. Argis stared after him, then shook himself, and followed after Valerie.

By the time he caught up with her she was standing next to an Argonian woman, who was kneeling by a tanning rack. Valerie was unclasping one of the necklaces she wore around her neck, a heavy silver medallion. As she passed it to the Argonian woman, he saw an etching on the side of the necklace glimmer in the light: a sketch of an anvil.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Valerie was saying. “It was ages before I was near Windhelm again. But it was right where you said it’d be, and look—still in one piece.”

The woman stared at the necklace, blinking, and reached up to touch it with a shaking hand. One tear ran down her face, falling straight down to the dirty wood below their feet. “Bless you, friend,” she said to Valerie, rasping. Her hand—dark green, with scales that glittered in the light from the dock’s lamps—closed around the medallion. “You have renewed my hope.”

“Of course, Shahvee,” Valerie said. Her voice was soft, her eyes wet, too. She reached up one hand, even paler than usual in the cold, to brush the snow from her face. She looked so beautiful then that Argis wanted nothing more than to bend down, take her face in his hands and kiss the snow from her mouth, her nose, her eyelids. “I promised you I would.”

***

“Why do you do it?” Argis asked her, as they were making their way back up the stairs from the dock. Shahvee had insisted they come inside her home, a kind of dormitory that she shared with the other Argonians, and poured Argonian Bloodwine into chipped, mismatched teacups for them to drink. Valerie had stopped at one, but Argis had had a second, and then a third. The alcohol had affected him more than his usual ale or mead or alto wine normally did, and he felt like his blood was humming, bubbling and fizzing under his skin.

Valerie, as she always did, knew exactly what he was asking without him having to say it. “Lydia used to say it was my duty, to help people.”

Argis exhaled hard, through his nose. _Lydia._

“Erik liked the glory,” she continued. “Marcurio… Marc thought that when we helped someone, it gave us power over them. Like they owed us, and we could come to collect later, when we needed something.” She laughed. “Keep in mind that half the people I do things for barely have two septims to rub together.”

Argis made a noise of agreement, thinking of Shavee’s chipped teacups, her shabby dormitory chairs and rickety table.

“And Ghorbash…” said Valerie. She paused. “Well. He didn’t really like it when I helped anyone, to be honest. He thought I shouldn’t bother, wanted to be left alone. Wanted everyone to leave _me_ alone.” She changed her voice, making it rough and low. “‘Valerie, this asshole wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. Tell me why we’re going to find his stupid dead father’s sword?’” She laughed, then quieted. “Why do _you_ think I help people, Argis?”

“I think…” he said, carefully, thinking. “I think you do it because you _want_ to help people.”

She was silent, for a moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I think you’re right. I think that’s why I do it, too.”

They were at the top of the stairs now. Argis pushed open the heavy doors that led back into the city. Valerie walked under his arm and he let the doors close behind them. To his right, he caught a Dunmer child with a dirty face, skipping up and down the stairs to the Gray Quarter. He stopped and watched, wide-eyed, as they passed.

“With everything happening…” began Valerie. “The civil war. Alduin and the dragons. I just kind of feel like… the world is breaking, you know? Cracked. So when I help people, I kind of hope that it puts the world back together, piece by piece. Does that make sense?”

The Dunmer boy noticed Argis looking back at him. He turned, startled, and jumped away down the staircase, out of sight.

“Yeah,” Argis said. “It makes sense to me.”

They had almost made it back to Candlehearth Hall when they saw the two Nord men, shouting at a Dunmer woman. She flinched away from them, raising a hand to wipe something off her cheek.

“Do you— Valerie?” He had turned to ask Valerie if they should go lend a hand, but all of a sudden she was gone from his side. He looked again, and saw her already halfway across the square, walking so fast she was practically running. He hurried after her.

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy,” the bigger of the Nords was saying to the Dunmer woman. He was broad and dark-haired, with a bushy mustache that did nothing to hide his nose, bulbous and red from drink. “We got ways of finding out what you really are.” He reached out a huge, rough hand to the Dunmer woman, but then Valerie was there, pushing her way in between the two.

“How dare you!” she spat. “Don’t threaten her, she was minding her own business!”

Argis had caught up by now, and recognized the furious expression on her face. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword, wondering if he should pull Spellbreaker off his back.

The large man stopped, stunned, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. He turned to his companion, a balding man in clothes that were barely better than rags. He had a placid expression with downturned eyes, like a sad dog. “Do you see this, Angrenor?”

“I see it, Rolff,” the sad-faced Angrenor said.

Rolff turned back to Valerie. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. He lowered his voice, bending down and stepping closer to Valerie. “How about _you_ mind _your_ own business and get out of my face?”

Valerie lifted her chin. “No. I don’t like your attitude.” Argis gripped the hilt of the ebony sword tighter, his left hand rising to his shoulder for his shield.

“Listen,” said the Dunmer woman behind her. “Don’t upset him, it’s fine, he does this all the time—”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed, her hands closing into fists at her sides.

Rolff straightened up, then twisted his neck from side to side, making it pop. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, outsider? Fight me. Win the fight and I’ll leave this gray-skin alone. Lose…” He smirked. “Lose, and I’ll pay _you_ a visit later instead.”

“I can’t fight you,” Valerie hissed, incredulous. “You fucking Nords, always wanting to brawl— You’re three times my size, how is that fair!”

“So you lose,” said Rolff. He licked his lips. “Can’t say I mind. What are you, an Imperial? Or one of those half-breed sluts from High Rock? Never had one—”

“You fucking asshole,” Argis snarled, stepping in front of Valerie. Rolff’s eyes widened—he had been so focused on Valerie and the Dunmer woman, he hadn’t even known he was there. “This is how you talk to women? This is how you treat them? Where’s your honor? You’re a disgrace and an embarrassment to Nords all over Skyrim. I’ll fucking fight you, if it’s a fight you want.” He spat on the ground by the man’s feet.

He realized that they’d now drawn a crowd, but he found he didn’t care. He’d been getting angrier and angrier as he watched, and now the only thing he could think of was punching this gutless, miserable man right in his pustulent red nose. Over the noise of the onlookers he could hear Valerie calling his name. He felt her tugging at his arm.

Rolff gave him a slow smile. “So she’s _your_ half-breed slut, is she?”

“Call her that again and I’ll fucking kill you where you stand.” His heart pounding, he pulled out the ebony sword, just an inch, from its hilt.

“Argis,” Valerie said again, sounding desperate this time. “Argis, don’t—”

“Accepted,” Rolff interrupted. “No weapons, no magic,” he said, eyeing Argis’ sword. “Take that fucking armor off too, you cheat.”

Argis turned, pulling his scabbard off and tugging the shield off his back. He thrust both at Valerie, who was looking panicked. The Dunmer woman had vanished, as had Rolff’s friend Angrenor. On the fringes of the crowd he saw a few other Dunmer, looking at him interestedly. He heard one of them shout, “Put the filthy fetcher on his back!”

He dropped his rucksack and his chestpiece on the ground, then pulled his shirt off for good measure. He pulled his arms back and forth, stretching and flexing them.

“Argis,” Valerie hissed. “Argis, please—”

He met her eyes.

She sighed. “Just don’t kill him,” she whispered.

He grinned.

He let Rolff throw the first punch, which he dodged, then the second, then the third. After the fourth, which glanced off his shoulder, he realized that the man was all talk, and probably hadn’t been in a real fight in years.

“Out of practice?” he taunted.

Rolff was already gasping for breath, his chest heaving. “You… wish…” he panted.

Argis jabbed at his chest, and his jaw, hitting both solidly. “Looks like you should be the one wishing,” he grunted.

Rolff shook his head, spitting out a tooth. “Your half-breed bitch is going to be the one wishing later. Wishing I could fuck her every night. Tell me, brother…” He tilted his head, blood dripping from his mouth to his chin. “Is Breton cunt as tight as they say?”

“I’ll fucking _kill_ you, you fucking—” he snarled.

Too distracted by his anger to dodge, Argis felt the full force of the other man’s fist hit him directly in his left eye. He heard the crowd behind him gasp. He brought up a hand to touch his eye—it came back red.

“Drive that snowback to the ground!” someone behind him howled.

“You’re lucky I don’t need this eye, you fucking prick,” Argis growled, and punched Rolff once, twice, then three times in the face. The man staggered, and fell to the ground.

An enormous cheer went up from the crowd.

Argis knelt to where Rolff sprawled on the ground, moaning. He picked the man’s head up, by the hair, with one hand, then pointed him so that he was looking in Valerie’s direction. “Apologize to the lady,” he ordered. Blood dripped into his eye; he shrugged it away with his shoulder.

“S— sorry,” Rolff groaned.

Argis shook him. “And the Dunmer lady.” He still had no idea where she’d run to, but he figured Rolff probably couldn’t pick her out in the crowd anyway.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!”

“And you won’t be bothering her again, will you? Or any of the dark elves?”

Rolff shook his head, spraying more blood on the stone ground.

Argis bent closer, close enough to whisper in his ear. “Good. Because if you do, you know what’ll happen?”

Rolff shook his head again, whimpering.

“That nice woman you insulted before? You don’t know who she is, do you?”

Another shake.

Argis bent his head even closer. “She’s the most powerful witch in Skyrim,” he murmured. “She can turn her flesh to iron, stronger than armor. She can set you on fire with a flick of her finger. She can break all of your bones with a whisper. She can call demons to her aid, daedra from Oblivion, who’ll fight for her until they die. She can bring you to the brink of death and then heal you... just to hurt you again. I know you may think that I hurt you before by fighting you, but, oh, brother…” He licked his dry lips, tasting the metallic tinge of blood. “That is nothing, nothing compared to what she can do. And if we hear that you’ve been causing trouble in Windhelm again… I promise you a lifetime of pain.”

Argis smelled, suddenly, the harsh, sharp scent of urine. Disgusted, he let go of Rolff’s hair and stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers.

Valerie had her arms crossed, one dark eyebrow raised, but he could tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she wasn’t upset.

Not that upset, anyway.

“Well, I’m freezing,” she said. “Can we go to the inn now?” She tilted her head to examine him from top to bottom. “You done here?”

“Yep,” Argis said. “I’m done.”

She stepped forward, settling underneath his arm to help him walk, although honestly, he didn’t really need it.

“What were you whispering to him, before, when he was on the ground?” Valerie asked. The crowd parted to let them through.

“Just told him that you were the scariest mage alive and if he ever caused trouble in Windhelm again, we’d come and find him.”

Valerie snorted.

“Also,” Argis said, “I think that Argonian Bloodwine made me a little drunk.”

“You think?” she said, laughing, and he smiled at her as they made their way up the stone steps to Candlehearth Hall.

***

The inn was big, with even more rooms than the Silver-Blood Inn in Markarth, and Valerie got them each a room to themselves. When he put his things down by the bed he noticed a long mirror hanging on the door of the wardrobe, and he went and stood in front of it, still shirtless, to inspect his injuries.

His left eye was already bruising, with a cut right at the top of his cheek and by his eyebrow. They had both stopped bleeding already, but Argis thought he should probably clean them at some point, anyway. They weren’t deep, and didn’t look like they would scar.

He stepped back, inspecting the rest of his face and his torso in the mirror, looking to see if any other of Rolff’s punches had done any damage. On the left side of his chest was the remains of the large bruise from the warhammer, the bandit chief outside of Whiterun that had attacked Ri’saad. It seemed like years ago instead of just a few weeks. He touched the faded bruise, wondering where the caravan would be headed now.

The door creaked open and Argis turned, surprised. It was Valerie. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and he realized he was standing half naked in front of a mirror, essentially stroking his chest.

“Uh,” he said. _Idiot._ “Come in?”

She regained her composure and walked in. “I brought something for your eye,” she said, holding up a little vial. “And your hand.”

His right hand was indeed bruised, swollen and a little achy. “Thanks.”

She handed the vial over to him. “Do you want me to…?”

“No,” he interrupted. _Yes_ . “No, it’s ok, I’ve got it.” _Idiot, idiot, idiot…_

There was no chair in the room, but the fire was lit, and she stood in front of it, rubbing her hands together. “I just did a little eavesdropping outside, in the hall. You know the man you fought?”

“Yeah. Uh… Rolff?”

Valerie nodded. “Rolff _Stone-Fist_.”

“Not much of a stone fist,” Argis laughed. “Rolff Fish-Fist, maybe.” He paused. “Wait… Stone-Fist…” Why did he know that name?

“He’s the brother of Galmar Stone-Fist. As in, Galmar Stone-Fist, noted warrior and housecarl to Ulfric Stormcloak.”

He put a hand out against the wardrobe to steady himself. “Oh. Oh, shit. Well… What does that mean?”

Valerie raised her eyebrows. “It means we should probably leave Windhelm first thing tomorrow. I think we’ll be ok for tonight, though.”

“Wow,” Argis muttered. He rubbed his face, then ran his hand through his hair. “I called the brother of Ulfric Stormcloak’s housecarl a disgrace and an embarrassment to Nords all over Skyrim, didn’t I?”

Valerie laughed. “Yes, yes you did. So we should _definitely_ leave Windhelm tomorrow.”

“Fine by me.”

She smiled at him. “Listen, Argis. You know that I could have handled myself, right?”

He nodded. “Erik told me about when someone challenged you to a brawl in Whiterun. But, Valerie, I couldn’t—the things he was saying about you. I couldn’t just let him… I…”

She interrupted him. “Why do you help me, Argis?”

Her hair was doing that thing again, where it glowed red and golden in the firelight. She brushed an errant curl away from her face, out of her eye. Gods, she was beautiful. He swallowed. “I… I’m your housecarl.”

“Is that it, though?” she asked, quietly. “You figured out why I help people, Argis. But why do you help me?” She tilted her head, waiting for his answer.

He found that he couldn’t answer her. He felt an odd sense that they had had this conversation before, and was reminded of when they were in the cave before they fought the dragon at Bruca’s Leap Redoubt.

 _You would die for me?_ she had asked him. _Because you’re my housecarl?_

He wondered what she would do to stun him, this time.

But maybe she already knew the answer, like she always did, because she crossed the room to him, smiling. “Well. In any case. Thank you, Argis. For protecting me. Even if it _was_ unnecessary earlier… But... You do a pretty good job of protecting me the rest of the time, too.” She reached up, leaning on her tiptoes, placing his hands on his chest to urge him down. He bent his head without thinking, and felt the soft brush of her lips on his cheek.

Kiss her, he told himself. Kiss her, take her in your arms, tell her you love her, tell her you would fight anyone, anything, just to keep her safe—

And then she was walking away from him, pulling the door to his room closed behind her. “Dinner in an hour? I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Ok. Bye.” The door closed, and his hand drifted up to touch his face.

***

He had collected himself by the time it got close to dinner, and they ate together, sitting next to each other at a round table near the fire. He thought it would have been nice to sit and talk, just the two of them, but they kept getting interrupted by people buying Argis drinks and bringing him food. It seemed that word had gotten out about the fight, and everyone was pleased that someone had finally done something about Rolff Stone-Fist.

“Never cared about the dark elves much myself,” said the innkeeper, a Nord woman named Elda. “But Rolff was the loudest drunk around, screaming and shouting around the Gray Quarter every night. Maybe people in Windhelm can finally get some sleep now you’ve shut him up for a bit.” She pushed a plate piled with sweetrolls at him. “Here. On the house.”

Several feet behind her, the inn’s bard, a Dunmer woman, strummed a tune on her lute.

Valerie was deep in conversation with an Imperial man who said he was a writer when the bard approached him.

“I heard about what you did,” she said. She pushed a lock of bright red hair behind her slightly pointed ears. “I think you’re very brave.”

“Uh,” said Argis. “...Thanks.” He hardly thought getting into a drunken brawl would be considered brave, and anyway it had been Valerie who had interrupted the men in the first place, but—

“You know,” she said, “I don’t usually do this, but… If you get lonely in the night, my room’s just over there.” She pointed toward the end of the hall, on the left, opposite his and Valerie’s rooms.

“Uh,” he said again, suddenly feeling panicked. He glanced over at Valerie, who was still speaking intently to the writer. “Uh, I’m very flattered, but…”

“Oh,” the bard said, looking at Valerie. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize— Please forgive me, I—” She walked backwards away from him, then turned and fled to the other side of the room.

His mug of ale was nearly full, and he picked it up and finished it in one long drink.

After dinner he said goodnight to Valerie at the door of her room, which was right next to his. She lingered, a bit, her hand on the wood of the doorframe, and he had a small, fleeting hope that she would invite him in. The ghost of her kiss still burned on his cheek. But instead she just gave him a little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and told him that she’d see him in the morning.

He took a long bath, washing his hair and re-braiding it, and took some time to trim his beard, which he hadn’t done since Whiterun. Back in his room, he rubbed his arm and the cuts on his eye with the healing potion that Valerie had given him, and then, for good measure, rubbed the scars on his face with it, too. He pulled on a pair of clean trousers and got under the covers in his bed, settling down to read one of the books he’d picked up at High Hrothgar, The Rise and Fall of the Blades.

He only made it a few pages before his thoughts caught up with him, and he wondered what Valerie was doing, in her room on the other side of the wall. Was she sleeping? Reading? Practicing her spells? He heard nothing but silence. He pictured her sitting on the bed, combing out her dark hair, wet from the bath.

If you get lonely in the night, the bard had said. He _was_ lonely. He _felt_ lonely. In another life, if he was another man, maybe he would head down to her room in the middle of the night, and knock on her door. She wanted him; she was pretty, with her big eyes and bright red hair. She wanted him, but all he wanted was Valerie.

He closed his book, placing it next to him on the bed.

What would Valerie do, if he went to her room in the middle of the night and knocked on her door? He remembered her sad little smile in the doorway of her room. Would she be waiting for him? He pictured her that night in Whiterun, the ties on her dress slowly opening as she looked up at him in the moonlight, her hair framing her pale face, her eyes shining at him in the darkness. The wildflower scent of her hair.

He swallowed, his mouth going dry, and unlaced his trousers beneath the blanket. Days of sleeping next to Valerie, curled up with her in a bed, in a tent—even her just in the same room—had taken their toll. Fuck it, he thought. You’re alone now.

There was, as usual, the underlying sense that thinking about her like this was wrong, that he was dishonoring her. But he pictured himself pushing open the door of her room, like she had pushed his open earlier, and the guilt fell away at the thought of her, looking at herself in the mirror half-naked, and— No, wait—

He stroked himself slowly, his imagination running away with him. 

He would push open her door and she would be in her bed, touching herself, too, her legs spread just enough so that he could see the dark hair between them, the shock of pink as she slid a finger inside of herself.

“Fuck,” he grunted, lost already. “Fuck, please, I want—”

And she would see him there and reach for him, needing him, needing what only he could give her. And he’d kneel between her legs, kissing her neck and her breasts, stroking her slick cunt with little touches until she begged, until she pleaded for him, and finally, finally he’d slide himself inside of her, slowly, both of them moaning at how good it felt, how hot and wet and so fucking _tight_ —

His orgasm hit him suddenly, and he cried out a desperate noise that was half groan, half gasp. The Rise and Fall of the Blades clattered to the floor and he jumped, startled, then laughed.

“Fuck,” he said, the only word he was capable of at the moment. “Fuck.”

He cleaned himself off as best he could with a dirty shirt, then rolled over, exhausted to his bones. As he drifted off, he thought he heard a woman moaning in the room next to his, but by the time morning came, he didn’t remember hearing anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is taking a long time guys, I hope you are not losing interest. In apology, please enjoy what is apparently my favorite Skyrim pairing, Argis/his hand. 
> 
> Also, I hope that you've been able to tell that Valerie's feelings for Argis are just as strong as his, although she's keeping them to herself. You'll find out a little why when they get to Winterhold, which is coming next.


	24. If I Could

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I messed up the timeline a bit in an earlier chapter due to my own carelessness. In the scene before it's revealed that Valerie is the Dragonborn, where they're talking in front of the fire, Valerie mentions that she killed a dog by accident when she first came to Skyrim. That should have said Whiterun, not Skyrim - I've fixed it, but wanted to call it out in case anyone noticed the inconsistency and/or cared :)

He noticed it before they even got to Winterhold.

On the road up to the town, they walked past a trio of guards who nodded at them in acknowledgement. As they passed, he heard one of them say, “That’s him. That’s the Dragonborn.”

Argis, like an idiot, swiveled his head around to look at Valerie, who had an amused little smirk on her face.

“Big blond Nord. Scarred. Arrow tattoo on his face. I told you, my cousin Rodnar saw him win a brawl in Windhelm. Some drunk was threatening a woman, and he stepped in and beat the shit out of him.”

“Uhh,” Argis muttered. “It’s barely been a couple of days, how…”

“Word travels fast in Skyrim,” Valerie said. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “Surprised it took this long, really.” She reached over and took his arm. “Come on, Dragonborn. We’re nearly there.”

As they closed in on Winterhold and the sounds of the guards faded away, he heard one distantly, sounding confused, saying, “But I thought the Dragonborn was an orc?”

***

Winterhold was depressing. 

Windhelm may have been dirty and gritty, run-down and gray. But Winterhold… Winterhold looked like it was _abandoned._

There was no one on the street save for a few guards and a young girl chasing a chicken, who stopped and stared at them openly as they passed. It was the middle of the day and there was no one shopping, no one walking, no one… around at all.

The houses looked dilapidated, in bad need of repairs. To his right, he could see the empty frames of several buildings, hovering at the edge of a cliff, silent as ghosts.

He knew, of course, about the Great Collapse. But it had been nearly a century ago by this point, and he was surprised that no one had bothered to _do_ anything about it since then. It seemed like a place frozen in time.

At the foot of the bridge to the College Valerie paused, looking around. She was frowning.

“Faralda should be here,” she said. “She usually stands guard.” She paused. “Huh. It’s been so long since I left, maybe they’ve changed how they do things?”

Argis glanced at the dark gray brick of the College, looming over the city in the distance. It looked like a fortress.

Valerie shrugged. “Oh well. Come on.” She stepped onto the bridge.

Last night, when they had stopped to camp for the evening in a little cave tucked into the side of a mountain, Valerie had confessed to him that although she was excited to return to the College, she was a little worried, too. She had left so suddenly, when she got word of her parents’ deaths, and then never came back.

“I hope they don’t hate me,” she had told him, wringing her hands nervously and staring into the fire. “Marcurio would tell me I’m worrying over nothing, but…”

Marcurio had dropped out too, she had explained—although they’d been there around the same time, he was a little younger, and she only knew him in passing. She had met him again in Riften, and after traveling together for a couple of months, he’d said he wanted to go back, to work on his lightning spells.

“He was a little jealous that my destruction spells were getting stronger than his,” she had told Argis, laughing a little. “He’s been there ever since, and he’s said that I could come back anytime, but…” She had sighed. “Things are different now, you know?”

Now, crossing the crumbling bridge, Valerie’s arm grasping his tightly, he wondered about the welcome they’d receive on the other side.

“Gods, the bridge is even worse now,” Valerie muttered. They paused by what looked like an empty fountain. Valerie passed her hand over it, and it lit up with a blue light that flickered and died. “Argis, something is…” She stared over at the huge building, then looked back at the abandoned town. “Something feels odd. Something’s not right.”

Argis pointed to a spot further on, where he could see scorch marks from a spell along the bricks. “Someone’s been fighting. It looks recent.”

Her face paled, but she kept walking on. He followed her. The scorch marks continued up the pathway. In several spots, blood had dried in splashes on the ground.

“Marcurio knew we were coming?” he asked her.

She nodded, looking afraid. “I sent him a letter. It should have gotten here by now. Where _is_ everyone?”

They passed another empty fountain, then a third, and made their way up to a set of iron gates. The doors were half open, one of them creaking slightly in the wind.

She shook her head. “These shouldn’t be open like this. Something’s wrong.”

Hanging from the walls on either side of the gates were thick, heavy black banners.

“Valerie…”

She noticed them, too. “Someone’s dead,” she said. “Oh Gods. Marcurio?” she called. They pushed the gates open fully, and walked through.

He followed her through an empty courtyard. In the center was a statue of Julianos, its right hand crumbled into nothing. The ground here was torn up, snowberry bushes uprooted.

“Marcurio?”

She made her way through a wooden doorway, then through another set of iron gates and into a huge, high-ceilinged hall, Argis following close behind. They both stopped at the sight of a group of mages, talking in low voices in a small, tight circle. Their conversation cut short and a figure with long dark hair pushed through the knot of people, stepping forward to them.

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Valerie put her hand over her heart. “Marcurio—what in Oblivion _happened_ here?”

Marcurio held his arms out in welcome. “Valerie! I knew you couldn’t stay away! Admit it, you were lost without me.” He turned to Argis, gave him a onceover, and looked back at Valerie. “Please tell me you’ve brought me Vorstag. I’ve had a _week_.”

Valerie ignored him. “The banners— Who—”

Marcurio’s face fell. “Savos. And Mirabelle. I’m so sorry, Valerie.”

“Oh,” Valerie said. “Oh. That’s...” Then she turned, pushing her face into Argis’ chest, and sobbed.

Argis put his hands on her back as she cried, shaking. He looked at Marcurio, feeling desperately confused.

“But, hey, on the plus side,” Marcurio said, over Valerie’s sobs. He tugged on his robes, holding up the long, furred piece in the front. “They made me the arch-mage!”

***

“So Ancano was… a Thalmor spy?”

Marcurio nodded. He was examining one of the largest soul gems Argis had ever seen, turning it over and over. It caught the little balls of light that glimmered all around the arch-mage’s quarters—Marcurio’s quarters, now, apparently.

They were sitting at a table near Marcurio’s enormous bed. The whole room was round, taking up an entire floor in the tower. Scattered everywhere were alchemy ingredients, pink and yellow and purple flowers that he had never seen before. Little bowls that glowed and shimmered decorated each available surface. Mounted animal heads hung from the wall, spaced between an alchemy table and an enchanting table, pulsing with a pale green light. Vines crawled up the wall; moss crawled down it.

And the place had a fucking _magic garden_ in the middle of it. It looked like an enchanted forest, not the room of a college professor.

“And you stopped him from activating the Eye of Magnus… with the Staff of Magnus? Which you found in Labyrinthian? After defeating a _Dragon Priest_?”

Marcurio nodded again.

“And the Psijic Order showed up, took the eye and just… disappeared?”

“Yep.”

“Gods.” Valerie put her head in her hands, giving Argis a helpless look. “What the fuck is _happening_ in this country?”

Argis held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. Honestly, I truly have no idea what the two of you are talking about.”

Marcurio gave him a cocky grin. “Not one for the arcane arts, eh? Yeah, Valerie mentioned something about that…”

Valerie blushed.

Argis cleared his throat. “I wasn’t very… familiar… with, uh…”

Valerie placed her hand over his, squeezing it gently. “It’s fine. We’re fine, now.”

Marcurio glanced at their clasped hands. “Huh.” He looked back up at the two of them. “So. Yeah. That’s about it, I guess. The rest of the professors took a vote, made me arch-mage yesterday. I mean, I would have written to you about everything, but it feels like just a couple of weeks ago we were on our way to Saarthal…”

Valerie nodded.

“And I’m sorry about Mirabelle, Valerie,” Marcurio said. “I tried to… but I couldn’t...”

“Thanks.” Argis could barely hear her. She had cried for nearly an hour; Marcurio explained to him that Mirabelle Irvine, the master wizard of the college, had been a friend of Valerie’s mother from High Rock, and like an aunt to her, and Argis had nodded, remembering their conversation on the tower on top of the Throat of the World, about why she had come to learn magic at Winterhold instead of staying in Daggerfall. Valerie had stopped crying eventually, her tears fading to the occasional sniffle, but her eyes were still red. “I’m glad you’re all right, Marc.” She sighed. “What a mess.”

“Well!” Marcurio said, after a few moments of silence. He clapped his hands together. “Food?”

They ate downstairs, the same large room that they had first entered into now filled with long wooden tables, laden with meats and stews and plates overflowing with fruit. Argis sat in the middle of one bench, Valerie to his left and Marcurio across from her. He introduced Argis to the Bosmer across from him, Enthir, and an older Nord man to his right, Tolfdir.

“You must be the alteration master,” Argis said to Tolfdir. “My thane Valerie told me about you.”

“I am, yes!” The man’s eyes lit up. “Are you planning on joining the College as well, young man? Onmund over there—” He motioned to a hooded mage in dark green robes, drinking from a goblet at another table. “—is a fine apprentice, but we could always use more Nords.”

Argis chuckled at being referred to as a young man. “Magic’s not for me, professor. Although Valerie will probably want to speak with you later, she’s studying a book on the ebonyflesh spell.”

Tolfdir raised his eyebrows. “She’s mastered ironflesh?”

“Yeah. Uses it all the time.”

“Well, well. This is a pleasant surprise. I remember her being quite talented at conjuration, but she never expressed much of an interest in alteration. How extraordinary.”

Argis nodded, turning back to his turkey and snowberries. He glanced up and down the table, trying to see what else he could add to his plate. There was some grilled chicken further down, and what looked like goat, and some sort of vegetable stew. Across from him, next to the Bosmer, was a plate of mudcrab legs.

Enthir caught him looking at them. “Want one?” he asked.

Argis nodded, holding his plate over. “Thanks.”

Enthir dropped one on his plate, then, when Argis kept holding it in the air, added a second.

“So,” he said, as Argis was cracking the legs open. “Argis, is it?”

“It is.” He tugged some of the meat out.

“You and Valerie do a lot of traveling, do you?” Enthir had put his own fork down and was watching Argis attentively.

“Mmm hmm,” Argis said, his mouth full.

Enthir glanced at Tolfdir, who was in mid-conversation with a young Dunmer woman. His voice dropped, so that Argis had to lean in to hear it. “Well if, in your travels, you ever happen to come across any items of… questionable interest, I’d be happy to take them off your hands. In return, if there’s anything the two of you are looking for… I’ll see what I can do.”

Argis put down the second mudcrab leg. “You implying something?”

Enthir held his hands up, palms out. “Me? I’m simply a merchant.” He stood up, stepping back over the bench. “Nice speaking to you, but I’ve got a letter to write. By the way, when you head back to Markarth, tell Endon the silversmith I said hello. He’s a friend of mine.”

He walked away, and Argis watched him go, frowning.

Valerie disappeared with Marcurio after she was done with her dinner. He got up to follow her, but she put his hands on his shoulders, urging him to sit back down and finish his own food.

“I’m in a fortress full of mages, Argis,” she said. She smiled at him, her hand still on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. You still have a whole plate full!”

It was his second helping, but he thought best not to mention it. He glanced back and forth between her and Marcurio.

“Didn’t we literally just finish a conversation about how several people were murdered in this so-called fortress?” he asked, still skeptical.

Marcurio put his hand on his heart. “Should anyone attempt to harm our dear Valerie, I will roast them alive with a gout of arcane fire,” he said, solemnly. “And also, to be fair, one of those murderers was me.”

Argis grumbled, knowing he was being made fun of, but nodded, anyway. Valerie moved forward, looking like she was going to do something like hug him, or perhaps kiss his cheek again, but she simply clasped her hand in his, squeezing it gently before she turned and walked out of the hall. Marcurio stared at him for a moment, then followed.

“Can you pass me the stew?” Argis asked the Dunmer woman who’d been sitting next to Tolfdir. The older mage had retired to his room already. She giggled at him before pushing the bowl his way.

“How’d you get that scar?” she asked him. “It looks dangerous.”

“Sabre cat,” he told her, spooning some stew onto the little empty space left on his plate.

“You must be very brave,” she said. “Say, if you have a moment, could you help me with something?”

***

He had thought, stupidly, that the Dunmer girl needed help reaching something, or perhaps moving a heavy table, but it turned out she wanted to practice some of her spells on him. Argis backed away from her so quickly he nearly upended the bench she was still sitting on, then fled the hall, her cries of “It’s nothing dangerous, really!” fading away in the background.

He pushed open the first door he came across and found himself in an immense library. He stared, gawking, at the thousands upon thousands of books lining the walls and the shelves that criss-crossed the room. Eventually, he noticed he was being watched by an old orc sitting behind a desk. He was eating a piece of bread, the crumbs dropping into his long white beard and scattering on his mage robes.

“You a new student?” the orc grunted.

Argis shook his head.

The orc gestured grandly at the books around him, one hand still holding tightly to his bread. “Well friend, you are now in the Arcanaeum, of which I am in charge. You need a book, you talk to me. Otherwise you're going to find yourself in a lot of pain.”

Argis blinked. “I… I’m just looking.”

The orc went back to his bread. “Then look. But I don't want to see you treating any of these books poorly. Are we clear?”

Argis nodded, deciding not to mention that the crumbs he was dropping on the books in front of him probably weren’t helping to keep them in any sort of decent condition. “Crystal,” he said.

He wandered around for a few minutes, but the orc’s eyes on his back made him uncomfortable. He wondered if this was the librarian that Valerie had mentioned needing to speak to; he wasn’t sure he could see him helping anyone, voluntarily. Fed up with the constant surveillance, he decided to come back when Valerie was with him; maybe he wouldn’t be watched quite so intently then.

“Any idea where I could find Marcurio?” he asked the orc.

He frowned. “The arch-mage?”

Argis had forgotten. “Uh. Yeah. That’s him.”

“Did you try his quarters?”

Ugh. Argis wanted to hit himself in the forehead. “Uh. No, no I haven’t. Thanks.”

The orc nodded, and watched Argis as he backtracked towards the entrance. But when he got there, he found himself in front of two identical doors, one on either side, and couldn’t remember which way he had come in.

“On your right,” the orc called, and Argis pushed the door open immediately, wanting to disappear.

A little flight of stone steps led back up to Marcurio’s room—the arch-mage’s quarters, Argis reminded himself—but they looked empty, the table by Marcurio’s bed just as they had left it before going down to dinner. He turned around, forgetting already which door led back to the main hall—the last thing he wanted to do was have the orc watch him again as he backtracked through the Arcanaeum. He paused when he heard a familiar sound: a lilting voice, drifting down the staircase.

He took a couple steps up, following the melodic notes of Valerie speaking. A breeze blew past him, raising the volume of what she was saying.

They must be outside on the roof, he decided, and forgot to shut the door. He took a few more steps up, but then froze, one foot mid-step, when he heard Marcurio’s voice.

“So tell me about big, blond and brooding that you brought with you.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Marcurio. We’re friends. He’s my housecarl.” Valerie’s voice was clear and strong.

Marcurio made an “mmm hmm” noise. Argis put his foot down and leaned his back against the stone, trying to make himself as small and silent as possible. His heart was racing, suddenly.

“Marcurio.” Valerie sounded exasperated.

“I know you, Valerie. And I know your type. You always did have a thing for these big, gruff Nords—”

Argis raised his eyebrows. He should definitely not be listening to this.

“Oh, like you should talk!”

“So have you climbed him like a tree yet?”

Argis leaned against the hard stone wall, frozen. Every breath he took, every twitch, every blink of his eyes, sounded magnified somehow. He knew that he shouldn’t be listening. He desperately, desperately wanted to leave—but not as much as he wanted to stay and hear more.

“Stop, Marcurio.”

“What? You want to, you don’t have to lie to me about it. Stendarr’s balls, Valerie, you can’t stop touching that man for a minute! I thought you were going to climb into his lap and lick the dinner off his face—”

All right, Argis told himself. You should definitely leave, you should _definitely_ not be listening to this conversation. He pushed against the wall to straighten himself up, but one of his gauntlets caught on the stone, making a loud scraping sound, and he froze, holding his arm half in the air.

“Ok, now you’re being ridiculous—”

Argis let out a breath, thankful that he wasn’t heard. He closed his eyes, ignoring whatever small sense of honor he had left that was telling him that spying on his thane was wrong… That spying on his thane when she was talking about him was downright shitty… He ignored all of that, and listened.

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Tell me you don’t, then. Tell me you haven’t thought about fucking him. Ha! Look at your face, you _have_ thought about it!”

Oh good Gods, he should be fired.

“Oh, _don’t_ , Marc— It’s complicated. I can’t just…”

Why not? Argis thought, frowning.

“Why not?” Marcurio echoed. “Didn’t stop you with that meathead in Whiterun. Or that guy who—”

“They were different. Argis is my housecarl!” Valerie protested.

So?

“So?”

Valerie sighed, exasperated. “So… Look, I care about him. But he’s so… So honorable and… and good! I can’t just… I just can’t. I _care_ about him, Marc,” she repeated. “He deserves someone better than me. Someone who can give him more than I can. Someone who won’t fuck everything up.” She sounded impossibly sad. “I wish things were different. Really, I do.”

Had Argis been able to move, he would have slid down to the floor, knocked over by Valerie’s revelations. She did care about him. She did want him. For weeks he’d been convinced that, should he confess his feelings, they wouldn’t be returned. And he was wrong.

No matter what he did, how hard he tried to pretend, he knew it was obvious how he felt about her. She must know, he told himself. She must.

So what was holding her back from letting herself feel the same?

“Is this about Brynjolf?”

...And who the fuck was _Brynjolf_?

“Oh fuck off, Marcurio,” Valerie snapped, all the sadness gone from her voice. “No, it’s not, ok?”

“Look, I know you probably have some sort of… trust issues or whatever you want to call it—”

“Oh Gods, can we not do this again please?”

“—and I know you told me you weren’t going to get involved with anyone while this whole Dragonborn business was happening but…”

“It’s not just that.”

“So then what else is there?” Marcurio paused. “Valerie… Is this about your stupid theory?”

“Look,” she said, using the voice she used when she was trying to be convincing. “It’ll be easier for Argis when it’s all over, if I don’t…” She trailed off. “It’s not stupid,” she added, stubbornly.

“It is. It is stupid! It’s stupid and idiotic and—”

“Stop.”

“—and wrong, Valerie, ok? You’re not going to—”

Valerie cut him off. “I don’t want to get into this with you, Marc.”

“Well funnily enough, I’ve had to do a lot of things that _I_ didn’t want to do lately. Like when I got a fucking visit from the Psijiic Order? And when I watched the arch-mage and the master wizard die in front of me? And can I just remind you that I fought a fucking Dragon Priest, Valerie, a motherfucking Dragon Priest with a big scary ass mask and he fucking floated around and I nearly shat myself because I was so fucking afraid. All _I_ wanted was to come to this Godsforsaken college and work on my lightning spells and maybe become an adept mage, and now I’m the fucking arch-mage and I didn’t _want_ any of it. But guess what? It fucking happened anyway.”

There was silence.

“...Sorry,” Marcurio said, calmer now. “I’m sorry for yelling. Gods. Listen. I just… I just feel like this whole world is going to shit, and anything can happen at any time. One day you’re shooting sparks at a snowberry bush and the next day you’re the arch-mage. One day you’re working the bar at the Bee and Barb and the next day you’re the Dragonborn, you know?”

Valerie was quiet. “Yeah. I know.”

“And between the civil war and Alduin and the fucking Thalmor, any _one_ of us could be dead tomorrow in this Godsforsaken frozen wasteland of a country.  Think about Savos. And Mirabelle! You need to make the most of the life that you have, Valerie, while you still have it. And you obviously care about him, so... Why don’t you do something about it?” 

She spoke so softly that Argis had to strain to hear her. “It’s just going to wind up hurting him. And I don’t want to hurt him, Marc.”

Marcurio’s voice was gentle when he replied. “Well… You are. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And you’re hurting yourself, too. So… just think about it, all right?”

Argis couldn’t bring himself to listen anymore. He pushed off the wall, not caring about the clanking noise his armor made, and sprinted down the steps. They heard him, or someone: As he crossed the hall to the other door, he heard Marcurio shout, “Enthir! Is that you in my room again, you little pervert?”

By some miracle he chose the door that led back to the main hall, and he turned right through the iron gates and into the courtyard. He walked quickly past a few mages, who looked at him with mild interest, and wound up on the bridge, beside the last dead fountain.

He took a deep breath of the freezing air. His whole body, and his brain, felt hot, overheated by everything he’d heard. Snow fell on his face; his breath froze little icicles on his beard.

Valerie wanted him. She wanted him, she cared about him—maybe she even loved him. But she was afraid. Afraid of giving herself to someone, afraid of hurting him. Afraid of getting hurt.

He’d show her that he could do it. That he could be strong. Strong enough for the both of them, even, if he had to be.

But… his mind kept drifting back to what she had said, what Marcurio called her “stupid theory.” He had no idea what that meant, what it meant for him, what it meant for the two of them. He thought he knew her well enough by now that he could figure it out… but then again, his eavesdropping had proved that there was still plenty he didn’t know about Valerie.

He stood on the bridge for a long time, looking out at the water. But it was calm and dark and quiet, and offered no answers.

***

That night, after he had bathed and changed, leaving his now-clean armor in a chest at the foot of the bed he was using, he went to find Valerie.

The two of them had been giving rooms in the tower with the apprentices. The Dunmer girl from dinner was right across the hall; she smiled and waved at him. He tried to give her a smile back, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

He hadn’t seen Valerie since dinner—hadn’t heard her since he eavesdropped on her and Marcurio on the roof—and he headed back to the arch-mage’s quarters to see if they were still there.

Valerie wasn’t, but Marcurio was. He pulled open the door after Argis knocked, then let him in, saying, “She’s up on the roof.”

Argis nodded, and pretended not to know how to get up there. Marcurio pointed, and Argis nodded in thanks.

“Hey, Argis,” Marcurio called, after he had climbed a step or two.

Argis turned, wondering if he was about to be yelled at for his obvious eavesdropping earlier.

But Marcurio was smiling at him. “Next time you come to the college, bring your friend Vorstag, all right? Valerie keeps telling me how much he looks like you, and since you’re not interested, I think it’s only fair.” He tilted his head. “I am _very_ important, after all.” 

Argis laughed. Vorstag would like him, he decided. He could picture them together, telling story after story, trying to match the other one with their bragging and tales of exaggerated bravery. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Valerie was leaning against the edge of the tower, looking up at the sky. She had her cloak on over her robes, and a big fur wrap on top of it. The aurora was out, and Masser bright, reflecting in little rainbows on the stone floor of the tower.

“Hey, Argis.” She greeted him quietly, without turning around. He wasn’t surprised that she could tell he was there.

“Will you come to bed?” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Despite their newfound closeness, despite what he had learned from eavesdropping on her on the roof, they weren’t lovers—and that was the kind of thing lovers said. “To sleep? I mean…” _Idiot._ He was making it worse.

But Valerie, thankfully, took no notice of his fumbling way with words. “In a minute,” she told him. “Isn’t it beautiful? The sky?”

Argis looked. He’d been so distracted by his thoughts that he had barely glanced at the aurora, spread out before them like a painting, illuminating the Sea of Ghosts below. Masser was right in front of them, looking low and heavy and close enough to touch, shining brightly through the rainbow of color. In the bands of blackness at the top and bottom of the sky, the stars glittered.

He crossed the tower to stand next to Valerie at the edge. In the silence, he could hear the sea crashing against the ice and rocks below.

Her face was glowing in the moonlight, pink and green and blue shining and flickering across her cheeks. “I really think I would stay in Skyrim, if I could. It always surprises me how lovely this place can be sometimes, you know?”

It was a question that didn’t really need an answer, so he stayed silent. After a minute, he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as she relaxed into his side.

Hours later, he woke up in the middle of the night, alone in his small apprentice’s bed, his heart pounding from a nightmare that was slipping away with every breath, her words on the rooftop echoing in his head:

_If I could. If I could. If I could._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more of Valerie's background, and the revelation that will surprise no one, that she does <3 Argis as much as Argis <3s her. 
> 
> Any guesses to Valerie's stupid theory? 
> 
> And who the fuck is Brynjolf??? ;)


	25. Forces Beyond Your Control

“What do you mean, you found an Elder Scroll!?”

“Valerie, calm down, I can explain—”

“What the _fuck_ , Marcurio!”

Argis stood in the Arcanaeum, stunned, watching Valerie and Marcurio shout at each other. Across the large desk, the librarian stared too, his mouth hanging open.

They had come to the library first thing in the morning, trailed by Marcurio, to ask the librarian, Urag Gro-Shub, about the Elder Scroll. Argis had watched out of the corner of his eye as Marcurio, who’d been still half-asleep and only vaguely paying attention to where they were going, started to pale as soon as Valerie described her mission. Once Urag had brought over a couple of books and mentioned a mad old scholar named Septimus Signus, Marcurio had muttered, looking like he was about to throw up: “I know where the Elder Scroll is.”

“Did you read it?” she asked, incredulous. “Please tell me you didn’t read it!”

“Of course I didn’t read it, I’m not an idiot. You think I want to go blind?! I didn’t even touch it!” Marcurio ran his hands through his hair, panicked, and resumed his pacing.

Valerie looked back at the librarian. “I’m sorry, Urag. Thank you for the books. I think Marcurio and I need to have the rest of this conversation in private.”

The old orc nodded. “Just make sure your hands are clean before touching anything, all right?”

“Of course,” Valerie said politely. She picked up the books and, without looking at Argis or Marcurio, swept out of the library and back to the arch-mage’s quarters.

“Oh, she’s pissed,” Marcurio said, watching her leave.

Argis nodded grimly, then followed after her.

When they pushed the doors open, they found Valerie sitting at the table near Marcurio’s bed, the two books laying in front of her.

“Sit,” she said to Marcurio, pointing to the chair across the table.

Marcurio sat.

“Talk,” she said.

“It’s in Blackreach,” he said.

Valerie put her head in her hands. “Fuck,” she whispered. She looked up. “I thought Blackreach was just a rumor.”

Marcurio shook his head. “It’s real. And it nearly killed me.”

Valerie exhaled. “Fuck,” she said again. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re not dead. I don’t know why I’m so mad, it’s not like you could have known I would have needed it—”

“Uh,” interrupted Argis. “Sorry, can someone tell me what’s going on? What’s Blackreach? And why were you there, Marcurio?”

“Yeah,” Valerie said, frowning, “Why _were_ you there, Marcurio?”

Marcurio pointed at the seat next to him. “You might as well sit, too,” he said to Argis. “It’s a really long story. So, I was exploring north of Winterhold, and I found this cave...”

***

“I can’t believe Marcurio is the fucking champion of Hermaeus Mora.”

At lunch, Valerie and Argis had taken bowls of stew from the main hall and carried them back to Valerie’s room in the dormitory, where they ate and talked behind the heavy closed door. Well, Argis ate. Valerie pushed her food around her bowl, clearly disturbed.

“I know,” Valerie said. “Well, he said he denied him. But I don’t know how much that matters. Gods. Another thing to worry about.” She sighed. “Do you want my stew?”

Argis shook his head.

“No to more food? You must really not be well,” Valerie said. She reached over, placing her bowl on the cupboard by the side of her bed.

Argis frowned. “It’s all that talk about Hermaeus Mora. A seething mass of eyes and tentacles? And having to collect blood for the Og… Og…”

“Oghma Infinium,” Valerie supplied. “Yeah. Ugh.” She shivered. “Well, I guess the benefit of that is that… if he hadn’t been granted that extra knowledge, he wouldn’t have been powerful enough to defeat the Dragon Priest and stop Ancano from taking control of the Eye of Magnus. And then…”

“The world would have ended?”

“The world would have ended,” Valerie echoed. “Seems like that’s happening a lot these days.” She sighed, then stretched out across the bed, her feet dangling off the end.

Argis shifted, still sitting next to her, his feet crossed under his legs. “And so we have to go to… Blackreach?”

“Yeah. Marcurio said he left without the Scroll, so it should still be there. I’ll see if he can remember enough to draw a map from Alftand. But Argis—” She rolled over onto her stomach to look at him. “Do you remember when we were with the Khajiit, and Ri’saad told that story, about those pale, blind creatures that attacked his caravan?”

Argis nodded. “Yeah,” he said, slowly.

“Those were the Falmer that Marcurio mentioned. They’re in a lot of Dwemer ruins, anything that goes far enough underground. I’ve only fought them a couple times, but they’re really, really dangerous. And they’ll be crawling all over Blackreach. They use poisons, too, so we’ll really need to stock up on health potions for you.”

Argis swallowed, thinking of the enormous underground city that Marcurio had described. “Can’t wait.”

“Ugh,” Valerie moaned, putting her head in her hands. “I guess I better start practicing, huh?” She leaned over the edge of her bed, rifling in her bag. “Where did I put that ebonyflesh spellbook?”

They decided to stay at the College for the next few days. Valerie spent a lot of time with Tolfdir, the alteration professor, as well as Faralda, who taught destruction magic. He usually followed her, taking a seat out of the way so he could watch her practice with the professors. She caught on quickly to the ebonyflesh spell, leaving Tolfdir so pleased that he applauded.

He tested its strength by firing an arrow at Valerie—Argis was so stunned to see the old man conjure a bow out of thin air that he barely realized what was happening until he was notching an ethereal arrow, aiming it at Valerie’s chest while she stood in the middle of the hall, waiting patiently.

“Hey!” Argis shouted, startling Tolfdir. He had drawn his sword without thinking. The old man turned, looking stunned, like he’d forgotten that Argis was there. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my boy!” Tolfdir said cheerfully. “I’m very confident in the young lady’s alteration skills, and if I’ve misjudged her abilities, we have quite a few mages on hand who are experts in restoration!” With that, he let go of the arrow. It flew through the air, hitting Valerie over the heart with a _plink_ , before bouncing off and dissipating into the air.

“Excellent!” Tolfdir cried, and Valerie beamed, her skin glimmering.

Argis, frowning, sheathed his sword and sat back down on the bench by the wall.

Later, Valerie showed Tolfdir her telekinesis spell, and together, the two of them lifted a wooden chair into the air. It only hovered for a second before it clattered to the ground, and Tolfdir clapped her on the back, clearly delighted.

“I can usually only manage a candle by myself,” he told her, out of breath.

“The most I’ve managed so far is a book,” Valerie said. She looked a little paler than usual, and after thanking Tolfdir for the practice, she went back to her room and napped for several hours.

At night, she headed up to the roof, where she dueled with Faralda, a tall, severe-looking Altmer woman, whose annoyed expression and aloof demeanor were at odds with the fact that she wore her hair in two ponytails on either side of her head, a style Argis’ niece Maeri had favored when she was about three. Faralda only deigned to let Argis stay and observe them after he’d shown her the necklace that Valerie had enchanted for him, which he wore all the time, even to sleep, and let her examine Spellbreaker.

That, and he had sat down in front of the door and lined up several healing potions on the cold stone ground next to him, then folded his arms and refused to move.

Faralda rolled her eyes and threw her arms in the air, giving up, while Valerie grinned. “Fine,” she said, haughty even in defeat. “Have it your way, you can stay. Stubborn Nords,” she muttered under her breath, as she turned away and threw a ward up in front of her, and Valerie cackled with laughter.

Valerie shot chain lightning at Faralda, then fireballs, which exploded on impact. Faralda pronounced them both adequate, which Argis figured was high praise. She had Valerie fire ranged spells off the tower, aiming them at the Sea of Ghosts below, and for a while the sky lit up with fire and lightning.

Argis loved the face Valerie made when she was casting spells, determined and fierce, with her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. It was at such odds with her normal expression, the soft vulnerability of her dark eyes, the way her mouth curved up at the corner when she smiled. He thought that he could happily watch her practice her spells for hours, and almost laughed out loud at the realization. Several months ago he would have nearly pissed his pants at the sight of two mages dueling a dozen feet away from him. He would have been banging on the door, scrambling over the edge of the tower and scaling down the side, just to get away from them.

“How are your cloak spells?” Faralda asked, when Valerie stopped firing at the water.

In response, Valerie held up her right hand, making flames swirl around her.

“Fine,” Faralda nodded, when the flames died down. “Can you do a lightning cloak?”

Valerie moved to raise her hand again, then stopped abruptly, looking at him. “Argis?”

“It’s all right,” he called to her, touched that she would check with him, that she would remember the details of the story he told her, about the briarheart in the lightning cloak who had killed his father.

Faralda looked at him curiously.

“Really,” he called again. “It’s ok!”

She nodded, and flicked her hand, and lightning curled from her palm, twisting its way around her body.

There was no fear at all in Argis’ heart as he watched the lighting dancing around her, bouncing off her robes and her skin. She stretched her arm up, extending her hand gracefully, and the lightning followed, shooting into the clouds from the top of her pointed finger.

“Nice,” Faralda said, and Valerie smiled, her eyes closed, face lifted to the sky.

No fear at all, he thought, as he watched Valerie smile. Just pride.

He helped her down the stairs when their practice was over; she clung to his arm with one hand, the wall with the other. Expending all that magic had burned her out, she explained, but she would be back to normal once she slept. He walked her to her room, the one next to his, and held onto her shoulder as she downed a very large blue potion. Her face looked a little pinker when it was gone, but she still had dark circles under her eyes. He thought it must be some time past midnight.

“We should talk some more about Blackreach.” She sat down at the edge of her bed, frowning at the floor. “Argis? Can you do me a big favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you take my boots off?” She yawned at him. “I’m too tired to bend down.”

He laughed, then got on his knees in front of her. “I am your sword and your shield and boot remover, I guess.” He tugged at her ankle with one hand, placing the other behind her knee for some purchase. He hoped she couldn’t see the blush crossing his cheeks; she was wearing leggings under her robes, but kneeling between her legs with her hand this close to her thigh felt extraordinarily intimate. He could feel the warmth coming from her skin, even through her clothes.

Her left boot came off after a few tugs. The right one was easier, and only needed one hand.

She yawned again, thanking him and standing up again. “Turn around,” she told him. “I need to get out of these robes, they smell like smoke.”

He swiveled, his face burning once more. “I could go…”

“It’s fine.” A drawer opened and closed. He heard the noises of buckles opening, the soft sounds of fabric falling to the ground. “We have to talk more about Blackreach, I just want to change,” she told him, her voice muffled. He pictured her tugging her white tunic over her head, then it slipping over her shoulder, glowing in the candlelight. “Oh hey, make sure to talk to Marcurio tomorrow. Ok, you can turn around now.”

He did. She was rubbing her face and hands with the little bottle of oil she had that smelled like mountain flower. Her robes and leggings were in a pile on the floor. Looking closer, he could see the frilly, lacy edge of something soft and silky looking. He looked away, remembering what she’d worn beneath her dress that night in Whiterun. “Oh?” he said.

She nodded, turning back the blankets on her bed. “He told me he has something for you.” She rubbed the oil on her feet, then corked the bottle and climbed in. She wasn’t wearing leggings, and he saw a flash of her pale, soft thigh as she arranged herself. He wondered how warm her skin would feel under his hand.

She yawned again. “Ok, I changed my mind. Now that I’m in bed, I just want to sleep.” She gave him a little smile. “Too much magic. Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Plenty of time to talk tomorrow.” He nodded toward the candle by her desk. “Want me to blow that out?”

“Could you?”

He walked towards it, taking in the vision of her laying in her bed, her dark hair spread out on the pillow. Her eyes were already closed.

He blew the candle out, and walked over to her doorway. It pulled open with a creak.

“Goodnight, Argis,” she murmured, her voice soft with sleep. “I’m glad my lightning cloak didn’t scare you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad, too. Goodnight, Valerie.” He turned, and closed the door behind him.

***

In the morning, he knocked on the doorframe of Marcurio’s open door. He was bent over his alchemy table, frowning at something that was fizzing and bubbling in a small bowl. He motioned to Argis to come in.

“I’m just seeing if I can make any useful potions for you guys,” Marcurio said. The potion emitted a cloud of orange smoke, then stopped fizzing entirely. From Marcurio’s frown, Argis got the impression that it wasn’t supposed to do that.

“Ugh,” Marcurio said, turning the bowl over and shaking it. The goo inside was stuck, and didn’t drip out. He peered at it. “I guess even arch-mages can be shit at alchemy.”

“You’re making stuff for us for when we go to Blackreach?” Argis asked.

Marcurio nodded. “Trying to, anyway. Follow me,” he said, abandoning the smokey bowl and heading over to the large wardrobe near his bed. “The previous arch-mage, Savos Aren, was… a bit of a collector.” He pulled the wardrobe’s doors open, and Argis’ eyes widened at the array of clothes inside. There were a lot of robes, but he also saw the glint of armor.

Marcurio tugged at the sleeve of something metal. “I found this the other day. It might fit you. You should be as protected as possible in Blackreach, trust me. Those fucking Falmer arrows get everywhere.” He unearthed the armor from the wardrobe, and as it spilled onto the floor, Argis gasped.

“Ebony armor?” he asked, shocked. “Marcurio, shit. Sorry. I can’t— You can’t give this to me!” he protested. A full set of ebony armor like this was easily worth a full year’s salary, at least.

“Why not? I don’t want you to die, do I? Or Valerie,” Marcurio said. “You’re no good to her if you’re a Falmer pincushion.” He nudged the armor over to Argis with his foot. “Come on. It’s not like I’m using it. And it’s the least I can do for not picking up that fucking Scroll when I had the chance.”

“Well,” Argis said, picking up the chestpiece. In the wardrobe, he could see a pair of boots, gleaming. “All right.”

The armor fit well, or it would, with a few minor adjustments. The boots were comfortable, lighter than the Akaviri ones he was wearing currently. Argis looked himself over in the full-length mirror by Marcurio’s bed, while the other man rummaged around in a chest of drawers nearby.

The ebony was dark, and looked almost liquid, like ink. It was carved with delicate scrollwork, a stark contrast to the sharp edges of the gauntlets and epaulets on his shoulders. It matched his sword exactly.

“We don’t really have a smith here, but if you need something adjusted, Sergius Turrianus might help. He’s the enchanting professor. Just don’t point out that he has the word ‘anus’ in his name, he really hates that,” he muttered. “Ah, here we go!”

When he made his way back to Argis, he was holding a silver circlet in his hand, set with three blue stones.

Argis raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks, Marcurio, but I don’t think that’ll suit me.”

Marcurio snorted. “It’s for Valerie. It was the old arch-mage’s. It’s enchanted to fortify magic. Although…” He reached up, intending to drop it on top of Argis’ head, but Argis ducked away, laughing. “It’s definitely a look.”

“I’ll just hold it,” he said, taking it from Marcurio. It tingled in his hand, and Argis turned it over, picturing Valerie wearing it. He grinned. It was silly, but she would look beautiful.

Marcurio sat down on the bed, heavily. “I tried to help, you know.”

Argis nodded. “This stuff is great, Marcurio, really. It’ll be a big help.”

Marcurio shook his head. “No. I mean, with Valerie. I tried to get her to admit that she loves you.”

Argis nearly dropped the circlet.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” Marcurio said. He had a particularly satisfied expression on his face. “I know you were eavesdropping, no one else in the College wears such heavy armor and you can barely move without it clanking about.”

“I…” stammered Argis. “I, uh…”

Marcurio waved his hand, dismissively. “Valerie has no idea. I managed to convince her it was Enthir, he’s sleazy enough that eavesdropping is exactly the sort of thing he’d do.”

Argis winced. “Sorry.”

“I would have done the same,” Marcurio said. He shrugged. “You’ll get there in the end. She’s stubborn, but from what she’s said about you, you are, too.”

He huffed out a laugh. “That’s what I’m told.” He frowned, turning the circlet over and over in his hands, staring at the blue stones as they sparkled. “I just wish I knew _why_ … Marcurio?”

“Hmm?”

He looked up. “Who’s Brynjolf?”

“A loaded question, my friend. A very loaded question, and one that Valerie should probably answer herself. But, long story short—someone who Valerie cared about, who wasn’t who he seemed to be.”

He frowned, not understanding. “But that’s not— I’ve always been who I said I was! I’ve never kept anything from her!” he protested. His brain, helpful as always, immediately reminded him of the night in Whiterun. He felt guilt wash over him. “I should go find her.”

Marcurio got off the bed, bending to pick up the discarded Akaviri armor. “She trusts you, Argis. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve always had her back—I don’t think that’s her issue, here.” He hung the Akaviri armor up, the metal squeaking on the wooden hangers. “I’ll keep this until you get back, so you don’t have to worry about carrying it with you. Before you go, you should take as many health and magicka potions as you can carry.” He motioned to the alchemy area, where blue and red bottles filled the many shelves.

Argis nodded, then sighed.

Marcurio clapped his shoulder. “You'll figure it out, the two of you. And don’t worry too much about Blackreach, my friend. You’re both strong, you’ll make it through. Besides, the only thing better than a powerful mage fighting at your side is... Well, nothing, really.”

***

He found Valerie in the Arcanaeum, talking to a small, balding Breton man, with dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to show me how,” she told him, sounding impatient. “I’m just asking if you’ll sell me the spellbook. Let me read it, at least.”

“And I told you,” said the Breton, “That you’re messing with forces beyond your control, girl.” He folded his arms.

“Look,” said Valerie, “I know that you weren’t teaching here when I was still a student, but I can promise you that I’m _quite_ talented at conjuration, and that I know what I’m doing.” She smiled, the big, gleaming one that she used when she was very, very annoyed. “Marcurio has told me many, _many_ stories about you and your summoning… skills.”

The man paled, but then shook his head, stubbornly. “No.”

Valerie swore, then flicked her hand. Sparky materialized in a haze of purple, right next to a table piled high with books. “Does this look like forces beyond my control to you?”

“ _Hey_!” shouted Urag, leaping up behind his desk. “No atronachs in my library!” He brought his own hands together and pointed them at Sparky, who disappeared with a crackle.

“Sorry, Urag!” Valerie called. “Won’t happen again!” She gave the man she’d been talking to one last withering look, then turned and walked away. Her necklaces jangled angrily.

“See that it doesn’t,” Urag grunted.

She was so busy glowering that she nearly walked right past Argis. “Valerie,” he said to her, and she jumped.

“Oh! Oh, I almost didn’t recognize you in this armor, Argis!” She stepped back, looking him up and down. “Is that what Marcurio had for you? You look amazing. Is that ebony? Is it comfortable? Does it fit?” She stroked the metal that encased his arm, trailing her fingers up and down it.

“Uh,” he said. “Yes. Yes. Yes. And sort of, I need to ask Sergius Turri— Turri—” Gods, if only Marcurio hadn’t mentioned that he had the word ‘anus’ in his name.

“Sergius Turrianus?” Valerie asked. She giggled.

“Yeah,” Argis said. “Him. I need to ask him to do some minor adjustments, I’ll see if I can find him at lunch.”

She nodded. “All right. Shall we head over? I… Argis? Why are you holding a circlet?”

Argis held it out to her. “From Marcurio. It, uh… fortifies magic.” He hoped he was wording it properly.

“Wow,” Valerie said, impressed. She placed it on her head delicately, then looked up at him. “Well? How do I look?”

The circlet was pale and sparkling against her dark hair. It was down today, falling past her shoulders in a wild tangle, and pushed back behind her ears, although one or two curls had escaped, framing her face. The high points of her cheeks were still pink, from when she was shouting at the Breton professor a minute ago. She was wearing her gray dress, and from where Argis was standing, he could look straight down into her cleavage.

Which he didn’t. Obviously. But he thought about it.

“Uhh,” he said, eloquent as usual.

Thankfully, he was saved by Urag brushing past them. The orc held a pile of books in his arms and nudged them out of the way to get to the shelf they were blocking. “No lollygagging, you two,” he scolded.

Valerie made a guilty face, then slipped off the circlet and slid it into the bag she kept around her waist. “Let’s go before we get kicked out,” she whispered, heading for the door, and he followed.

At lunch, he asked her who she had been talking to in the library, and what she had needed to get from him. He was the current conjuration professor, she told him, and she wanted to attempt some higher-level conjuration spells. There were still others left to learn, she said, although she didn’t elaborate.

Argis frowned, trying to figure out what else there could be. She had fire, frost and sparks atronachs, one for each branch of destruction magic. She’d never summon the dead…

“I’m not talking about necromancy, before you get any ideas,” Valerie said, pointing her fork at him.

“I…”

“That’s the look on your face you get when you’re thinking about something you don’t like, Argis. I know you.” She twisted her face up in a grimace, crunching her eyebrows together.

“My face doesn’t look like that,” Argis grumbled, and she giggled.

They were joined, then, by a few of the newer students: the young Nord Tolfdir had pointed out the other night; a gray Khajiit with a snobbish expression; and the young Dunmer girl who had asked Argis to help test her spells.

“No thank you,” he said to her, when she opened her mouth to speak to him, and she closed it, pouting.

“It is true, then, what they are saying?” the Khajiit asked Argis. “You are the one they call… Dragonborn?”

Argis glanced at Valerie, who shrugged. He shook his head. “No. It’s not true.”

The Khajiit looked at him warily. “J’zargo heard the town’s guards describing you exactly.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, friend,” Argis said. He speared a few pieces of chicken with his fork. “It’s not me.”

J’zargo frowned. “This is disappointing. J'zargo hoped there might be one here who could keep pace with his accomplishments.”

“Will you pass the potatoes, Argis?” Valerie asked. She blinked at him innocently, then turned to her left. “J’zargo, would you like some?”

As he handed them over, J’zargo spared her a glance. “You are new, yes? Have you mastered the expert level destruction spells yet?”

“I’m more of a conjurer,” she said pleasantly, easily avoiding both of his questions. She held the plate out to him. “Potatoes?”

“Ach.” J’zargo threw up his hands, climbing over the bench to leave. “Potatoes, potatoes! Potatoes will not help J’zargo become a powerful mage!”

“Bye!” Valerie called to him as he left. “Nice talking with you!”

“Sorry,” said the Nord, who’d been quiet until this moment. “He’s like that a lot.”

***

After having his armor adjusted by Sergius Turrianus—he managed to say the man’s name without snickering, thankfully—Argis headed back to Marcurio’s quarters, to meet Valerie.

He walked in without knocking. Marcurio and Valerie were deep in conversation, but stopped when he walked in.

“Just go and see Falion,” Marcurio said. “He always liked you.” His words had a tone of finality, like he was wrapping the conversation up for Argis’ benefit. “Argis!” he said, as Argis walked closer. “Come take a look at these terrible maps I made, tell me what you think.”

The maps were pretty terrible. Marcurio had gotten into Blackreach through Alfthand, a Dwarven ruin that Valerie hadn’t been to before. There were apparently a few other entrances, but Marcurio didn’t know where they were, or how to get there. His map of Blackreach itself was haphazard, a collection of vague sketches of buildings, wandering paths, and dozens of question marks.

“I put in as many landmarks as I can remember,” he said. “It’s dark there, but you shouldn’t use any light, it’ll just attract…” He shuddered.

“I thought Falmer were blind?” Argis asked, confused.

“They are. But it’s not just Falmer down there. Loads of charus, spiders… I saw a giant, and a frost troll. And that’s not to mention all the Dwarven automatons that wake up if you call too much attention to yourself.” He looked at Valerie. “Can you muffle?”

She shook her head.

“Invisibility? How’s your sneaking?”

She shook her head again. “You know I’m shit at illusion, Marc. I calmed an angry fox, once, and that’s about it. Besides, there’s no point in sneaking, or using invisibility, because I’ll be with Argis.” She reached over and laid her hand on top of his.

Marcurio sighed. “Make sure you bring a lot of potions, then, because I snuck my ass through the whole damn city, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason I made it out alive.”

Argis looked at Valerie, distraught. There was no way he could sneak up on anything, and if he did anything that brought attention to them, if he unintentionally did something that hurt her…

She squeezed his hand. “We’ll be fine.” Her smile was wider than it usually was, as if she was trying to convince herself, too.

***

They left at dawn the next day. Or, rather, they tried to leave, but they made it as far as the courtyard before there was a dragon attempting to crash down onto the head of the Julianos statue.

As he drew his bow, Argis thought there must have been some sort of ward that the dragon had broken, because all of a sudden mages were pouring out of all available doors, and the ones that weren’t on the ground had opened windows, firing spells from the towers. Argis saw fireballs, and lightning, and ice spikes, and conjured arrows and atronachs soaring. There must have been dozens of mages firing at it at once—the dragon didn’t stand a chance.

“Land in my courtyard, will you?” howled Marcurio, and shot lightning at its face.

In less than a minute the dragon was on the ground, screaming. Someone’s frost atronach was stomping heavily on its tail. Valerie was near its head, but it was snapping at her, and she circled it warily, trying to get closer.

He switched his bow for his sword and ran at it, swinging onto its neck and climbing up to its head. He barely had a chance to register the hard, shining scales at his feet and under his hands, slippery like glass. There was a soft spot where its head connected to its neck, and Argis slid his sword in right there, and held on as it thrashed, and screamed, and finally died.

He pulled his sword out and climbed off, slightly shaken. “I just killed a fucking dragon,” he said to himself. It had happened so fast, it hardly seemed real.

The dragon started to burn.

He blinked, coming out of his trance. _Valerie_ , he thought, and turned. She was right behind him, the light already beginning to swirl around her.

“I’m all right,” she told him, but she was sinking to her knees, and he put his arms around her to help her to the ground. She braced herself, hands in the dirt as the light got brighter. Argis was aware of an unnatural silence around them, as everyone in the College gathered to watch the Dragonborn absorb the dragon’s soul. The light became so sharp that it hurt his eyes, and he had to turn his face away.

Then it was gone, and Valerie was taking long, gasping breaths, one hand at her throat.

Marcurio pushed through the crowd. The dragon was nothing but bones, now, and a few of the braver mages came forward to loot the body for its rewards.

“Hey, Marc,” Valerie said weakly. She put her head against Argis’ shoulder. His arms were still around her. “Sorry about the mess.”

Marcurio shook his head, then sighed dramatically. “Let’s get you some bacon, shall we?”

As Valerie staggered to her feet and the three of them headed back into the College, Argis could have sworn he heard Tolfdir, crying his delight over the noise of the crowd as they picked over the dragon’s corpse: “Well look at that— _here’s_ my alembic!”

***

By the time Valerie could travel again, they’d lost half a day, and had to camp for the night. They found an abandoned tower as the sun started to set, so they settled in on the ground floor after Argis had scouted it and pronounced it safe. He was more careful than he normally would have been, remembering what had happened with the bandits at Whiterun’s western watchtower, how the last bandit had come out of nowhere.

They lit a fire and had a little bit of food, some dried meat and some of the hardtack Argis had made ages ago, before they’d even left Markarth. Their plan was to go immediately to Ivarstead after getting the Scroll, so Argis’ rucksack was full of food and provisions and canisters of water. He just hoped they didn’t lose them.

Valerie had nearly all of their potions, stacked like building blocks at the bottom of her bag. Lighter things like clothes were on top; Argis had had to persuade her to leave her books with Marcurio. She had been upset, but conceded that they probably wouldn’t have much time—or light—to read.

After they ate, Valerie unrolled her bedroll and climbed inside. He did the same with his, on the other side of the fire. They were both drifting off when Argis sat up suddenly.

“You didn’t do your thing,” he said.

“What?” asked Valerie. “My what?”

He mimed rubbing at his face. “Your thing, with your stuff. Where you rub your face and your hands and your feet.” He dropped his hands, feeling stupid. “You didn’t do it.”

“Gods, you’re right.” She rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “I think this might have been the first time I’ve ever forgotten. I must be more distracted than I think.” She turned her head, eyeing her bag, several feet away. “My bag’s so far away, though, and I’m so cold.”

He frowned, surprised. “You’re cold?”

“Freezing, when I’m not near the fire. Aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “Not really.” He gestured to her bag. “I can bring you your stuff, if you want.”

“Nah, it’s all right.” She rolled back on her side. “One night won’t kill me.”

They were silent, for a few minutes. Valerie’s eyes were closed, although he could tell she wasn’t asleep. She did seem distracted, he thought. A little off, a little more inside herself than usual.

“Are you afraid?” he asked her. His voice echoed in the darkness of the tower. “Of Blackreach?”

She kept her eyes closed. “Not if I'm with you.”

He smiled, and closed his eyes, and slept.

He was woken up in the middle of the night, in the darkness, by a soft clattering noise, almost like someone had gently dropped some marbles on a stone floor. He sat up. The fire had gone out, and he could see a figure crouched near it.

“Valerie?”

She turned to him, her face a white blur in the dark. “It’s too cold,” she whispered. She held out her hand, which was glowing feebly. “It’s… not working.” She shivered, and he realized the noise he had heard was her teeth chattering.

“Fuck, Valerie,” he said, crawling over to his bag. He pulled out his little tin that held his flint and steel piece; he hadn’t had to use it since he started traveling with Valerie. “Get in my bedroll,” he told her. “I’ll get the fire going again.”

She scurried behind him, wrapping herself up in his blanket. It took him just a few tries for the fire to start again; he breathed on it gently until it caught, then worked it until it was roaring. He put his tin back in his bag.

“Get yourself next to the fire,” he told her, and she scooched over. He couldn’t hear her teeth chattering anymore, but she was still obviously shivering, and her lips were tinged with blue. Swearing under his breath, he took off his chestpiece, then crawled in behind her and pulled her against him.

She let out a little “Oh!” of surprise when his arms wrapped around her, then outright moaned as the warmth started to move through him, into her.

He adjusted the blankets on top of them, then tugged her closer. “All right?”

The shivers had stopped, and her voice sounded sleepy and slurred. “Much better. Gods, Argis, you’re like a furnace. Has anyone ever told you how warm you are?”

She had, in fact, but she’d been drunk and probably wouldn’t remember. “It’s been mentioned.”

“Would you mind if we… if we stayed like this, until I fell asleep?”

Her hair was tickling his face. He brushed it out of the way, and it popped back again, making him grin. He tightened his grip around her waist, grateful he was still wearing the bottom half of his armor. She fit into him perfectly like this: her back against his chest; the backs of her thighs against the top of his; her ass, which he could feel even through the layers of her clothes, pushing against his—

The bottom half of his armor was uncomfortably tight. “Course not,” he said.

She exhaled deeply, relaxing against him. The fire crackled, smoke twisting in the breeze blowing through the far window.

“We should buy you some furs to wear, for the next time we travel in the north,” he said.

“I don’t want to smell like a bear,” she murmured.

The last thing he remembered was laughing, and then he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is another one of those tie-up-loose-threads-and-start-new-ones chapters, but I tried to make it fun :) 
> 
> Also I realized earlier that my draft of this is over 200 pages. Single spaced! Holy crap, guys, I cannot believe I have written THIS MUCH. It's insane. Thank you to everyone for being encouraging, it really means a lot. 
> 
> Coming up next chapter will be Blackreach, and it will be INTENSE. (Hopefully, lol.) I have had Blackreach planned for a looooong time :D


	26. No Going Back

She nearly died in Alftand.

They were barely halfway through, according to Marcurio’s hastily sketched map. They were both distracted, not thinking clearly, and didn’t notice the metal grating of a spinning blade trap, placed directly down the center of a set of stone stairs. They should have been quieter, stepped lighter, but his armor was loud and Valerie was talking, and they set it off.

They stared at it for a minute, trying to figure out how to shut it down.

Finally, Valerie said, decisively, “There’ll be a lever at the top. I’ll go first and shut it off, so you can come through.”

He tried to protest, but it was futile. She was much smaller, and she insisted that her ebonyflesh spell would protect her against the blades. So she crawled, on her hands and knees, up the side of the staircase, inches away from the deadly blades, while he watched, so terrified that sweat dripped off his forehead.

She was halfway up when he realized she was still wearing her rucksack. He cursed under his breath; he should have taken it from her before she went up. He swallowed, his heart pounding, keeping silent rather than draw attention to it. He didn’t want to distract her.

She was nearly at the top when it happened. Another blade opened up, right near the summit of the steps, much too close to where she was still crawling. She paused, frozen, but it passed by, missing her by the width of a fingernail.

He exhaled in relief.

Then the blade caught on a strap of her bag.

It tangled on the strip of leather and flung her, screaming, to the center of the steps, right where the blades were whirring, one above her, one below. She scrabbled at the smooth stone, sliding further down, closer to the blade spinning below her, screaming still. The steps were soaked in blood, the blades spraying the dark red liquid along the walls as they spun. She made terrified eye contact with him, and he realized that her skin was no longer glimmering, that her ebonyflesh spell had worn off.

She lost her grip, and slid down.

But at the last second, right before she slid into the spinning blade at the bottom of the steps, she opened her mouth and thunder came out. _“FEIM!”_

And she then went, impossibly, _through_ the blade, and down the stairs, and into a ghostly, bloody pile at his feet.

He was on his knees next to her immediately, trying to find her injuries, but she was fucking half invisible, and his hands kept going right through her skin.

“Valerie,” he kept saying, “Valerie, Valerie—” His hand went through her shoulder, her arms, her face.

“I’m ok,” she gasped, sitting up. He could _see_ through her, to the floor, to the walls, to the blades still spinning, spattered with blood behind them.

“What the fuck is happening,” he gasped. “You’re… you’re…” The word “dead” was on his lips, but his mouth wouldn’t move to say it.

“It’s not blood,” she said. Her body had started to flicker, regaining color. He tried to take her hand, but he still couldn’t get a grip on her. “It’s the potions, the blade went through the bag and broke the potions.” Behind her, he noticed her bag had landed a few feet from them, near the wall.

Argis, still gasping, looked closer at the liquid. She was right. It wasn’t as dark as blood, or as slippery. He held his finger to his nose, sniffed it. It smelled herbal, the sickly sweet smell of health potions and something smoky that he could only guess made up the magicka potions. The color, a reddish-purple, could only have come from the two types mixed together.

“Not blood?” he croaked.

She shook her head, getting more opaque by the second. “I’m not injured,” she promised him.

He gestured to her body. “But you’re…”

She held her hand up in front of her face. “It’s a dragon shout. It makes you immune to damage. And also invisible. For a little bit. Didn’t you see it, when I was at the Throat of the World with Paarthurnax?” She got up, then, making her way over to the wall where her broken bag rested. On the steps, the blades were still whirring.

He laid down on his back on the stone floor. “No,” he said. “Fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted.

He laid there for a minute, listening to Valerie rummaging around in her bag, letting the frantic beating of his heart calm down. He heard the tinkling sound of broken glass.

“Argis,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry. “The potions, they’re all broken. Every last one of them. _Shit_.”

He sat up. “I have some health potions in my own bag,” he said.

“How many?”

He shrugged. “Three? Four?”

Her face fell. “I don’t know if that’s going to be enough.”

He frowned, wondering how long they’d be before they got to the surface again. “Do you want to go back?”

Valerie started at the spinning blades, thinking. She stared for so long that Argis wondered if she had heard him. On the ground next to him was the circlet that Marcurio had given her, thrown off her head when the blades had caught her rucksack. He picked it up.

The blades slowed to a stop, then vanished beneath the stone. “Valerie?” he prompted, gently, finally.

She shook her head, like she was coming out of a daydream. “No,” she said. “No going back. We have to go through.”

He nodded. “All right.” He stood, and handed her the circlet.

“We’ll just need to be more careful,” she continued, standing up and setting the circlet back on her head. She carried on talking, and Argis wondered if it was for her own benefit, or his. “We’ll go slowly. I’m not thinking clearly. I should have remembered that shout and used it to go up the stairs in the first place. There’s too much…” She rubbed her forehead.

“Valerie?” he asked again.

She looked at him. “Let’s see what we can salvage, from my bag.”

It wasn’t much. All the potions, her bedroll, most of their clothes and her spare set of robes were cut into ribbons. Her bag, now with a giant, gaping hole in the bottom, was useless. She managed to salvage her journal and one or two sets of clothing, which he shoved into his own bag; the rest, she left in a pile at the bottom of the stairs.

She told him that the shout needed a few minutes to recharge, so they waited silently. When she nodded, they approached the stairs again, watching grimly when the blades opened back up.

“You can do this,” Argis encouraged her. “Just quickly, up the steps. Don’t look back.”

She nodded. “ _FEIM!_ ” And then she was dashing through the blades, holding the bottom of her robes up so they didn’t drag on the floor.

She made it with time to spare. He thought that she would be pleased, but she just frowned and walked off in search of the switch. After a few moments, the blades slowed to a stop and slid back under the stone again. He heard her call out the all clear from somewhere out of sight.

He walked toward the steps slowly, pausing by the little pile of clothing she’d left on the floor. Her green dress was one of the casualties of the spinning blades, one of the things that had been ruined. There was a piece of it at the top of the pile, dark green and velvety, with pink, yellow and purple flowers embroidered along the edge, and he picked it up and rubbed the softness of it with his thumb.

He wished, more than anything, that he could go back to the moment that he first saw her in this green dress. He would take her hands in his, tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that he wanted to take her away from Markarth, from Skyrim, from everything she had to deal with, and they’d go somewhere warm and quiet like the shores of Hammerfell, where they could put their feet in the ocean and have little fish come up and nibble their toes. Anything to make her laugh, to make her happy, to take away all the things that were distracting her, haunting her, turning her frustrated and sad.

He thought of Valerie, smiling up at him on the steps to the Keep, and before he knew what he was doing, he picked up the torn piece of fabric and slid it into the front pocket of his bag. Then he climbed the silent stairs to meet her.

***

He almost died in Blackreach.

They were lost after just a few hours, Marcurio’s map essentially indecipherable and the two of them helpless, stumbling in the heavy darkness. Valerie didn’t dare to even use her candlelight spell, and though there were some light sources—huge, glowing mushrooms that grew like trees—they stayed away, lest they be spotted by chaurus or whatever else lurked in the deep.

Even still, the Falmer found them, and came for them in waves. They fought with poisoned weapons, hissing and shrieking, jumping down from walls and pipes right in front of them. If they weren’t killed right away, more would come, attracted by the noise, pouring from the crevices in the ceiling and the stone.

Valerie’s ebonyflesh spell gave her an advantage; it covered her whole body, with no gaps. Despite Argis’ heavy ebony armor, there was nothing to protect his neck or his face, the little gaps where the metal met in the join of his elbows, his knees, the palms of his hands. Even though the Falmer were blind, it was like they _knew_ where to strike him. The cuts were small, and normally he would have ignored them and kept going, but the poison…

The poison took a while to take effect. First he would think he was fine, and then, minutes or even hours later, the little cut would start to burn. The first time it’d happened, he looked at his hand and saw black lines, little tendrils curling out from the wound, and he cramped up, his hand turning to ice. His arm went numb, and it crept up his shoulder and he stumbled and fell, clutching his cramping arm against himself tightly.

Valerie saw him fall and shouted his name, running over to him and pulling out one of their few remaining health potions. She poured it down his throat, her hand shaking, as he gasped. It took nearly the whole bottle for him to feel normal again. He should have rested, but her cry had drawn attention, and he stood up and pulled out his sword, his hand still throbbing. The ring that she had given him, the one meant to help recover his health, pulsed and glowed on his finger. He wondered if he would be dead by now without it.

It happened again, and again.

Valerie said nothing when he finished a third bottle, giving him a shaky smile and putting the cork back in the top. She set it on the ground, gently, and he wanted to laugh, wondering why she was taking such care in a place that was trying, with all of its might, to kill them, to trap them down in the dark forever.

They were lost, and they were going to die in here.

They walked until they were falling on their feet. Then they slept, and walked again. They were looking for a tower, which shouldn’t have been that difficult. But there were lots of towers, and Blackreach was so large, and after a while everything looked the same, in the dark.

The second time they slept in Blackreach, they barricaded themselves inside a little room in an abandoned ruin. There were some old candles, which Valerie lit with a flame spell, and Argis collapsed to the floor, dropping his bag beside him as Valerie started to scan the shelves, looking for any useful potions that hadn’t gone bad.

He watched her muttering to herself. Her robes were filthy, almost black with dirt along the bottom. She had blood smeared on her hands and her face, but he was pretty sure it was his. He rubbed the side of his neck absent-mindedly.

Valerie turned to him, shaking her head. “Nothing. How are we on food?”

Argis opened his bag, rustling through the contents. “Not bad.” He rubbed his neck again. “Some apples, dried meat. Still hardtack left.”

She walked closer, taking a seat by his side. “All right. Let’s eat, and rest, and—”

Something rattled in the walls, a scratching, scrabbling noise, and they both held their breaths, keeping themselves as still as possible and staring at each other, terrified, until it quieted. The blue stones in Valerie’s circlet glinted in the candlelight. Argis gritted his teeth; his neck was burning.

When the noise stopped, Valerie breathed, “Argis, your neck, you need another potion.”

“Fuck,” he swore, putting his hand up again to where it hurt. He could feel himself getting colder.

They both rifled through his bag, Argis stopping when the pain got too bad to clutch at his neck with both hands. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. Valerie turned the bag upside down and shook it, rooting through the remains of the food that fell out.

She fell on her knees, searching through the pile again. “You said there were four potions!”

“Three… or four…” His whole upper body was cold now, and he could feel himself keeling sideways, sliding to the floor.

Valerie turned back to him and cried out, panicked. She crawled over, cradling his face in her hands.

“Argis? Argis, hey, stay awake, ok? We’re out of potions, I’m going to have to use a healing spell.”

He tried to shake his head. He could see her face above him. She looked terrified. Her outline started to blur.

“Argis! Argis, let me heal you.” Her voice sounded echoey, far away.

He moaned, shaking his head. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know it hurts. You’ve been poisoned again, and we don’t have enough health potions. Please, Argis,” she pleaded. He could feel her hands trembling on his face. “I won’t hurt you, it won’t… Argis, it won’t _change_ you.”

He gasped from the pain. “Valerie…”

He could hear that she was crying, her voice thick with tears. “Let me, Argis please. Just nod, all right? I’ll even… I’ll even let you keep the scar.”

Gods, he loved her. He ground out a laugh. “You know me... so... well.”

“Is that… Is that a yes?”

He nodded, and she sighed with relief and placed her hand on the side of his neck.

The warmth was immediate. The pain and the cold faded steadily as the little glow of light grew stronger, highlighting the darkness around him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. The burning in his neck was gone, as were all the other aches in his body, too, the ones that were so much of a part of him now that he barely noticed them: the soreness in his feet; the tightness in his shoulders, from his heavy armor; the lingering twinges left behind by the scars on his face. He felt like he was floating. He groaned in pleasure, unable to help himself, then whimpered with disappointment as Valerie pulled her hand away.

“Gods,” he said, as he sat up. He glanced at her: her cheeks were pink, her eyes dark, the tears faded to shiny trails on her face. “That felt… that felt _good_.”

She burst into tears, pulling his face close to hers, resting her forehead against his. “You fucking stubborn asshole!” she sobbed, her face inches from his own. “You’re not allowed to die on me, all right?” She pulled back, looked at him and sobbed again, and then wrapped her arms around his back and crushed his face to her neck in a bruising hug.

“All right,” he murmured, muffled by her robes, his face smushed somewhere against her shoulder.

She pulled away, sniffling, then her hand reached out, her fingers touching his neck gently. “I didn’t do that bad a job, actually,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Valerie,” he said. He caught her hand in his.

“Argis?”

He stroked her hand with his thumb, running it over the soft skin of her palm. She had saved his life with this hand, he thought.

A part of him expected to feel different, now that he’d been healed with a spell. Now that there was magic in his blood, magic that had kept him from dying, from falling to the hot, burning pain of the poison. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel different. He felt the same.

Her eyes were wide and glinting in the candlelight, the dark red smear of his blood across her cheek and forehead made her look fierce, like she was wearing warpaint. He thought maybe he should kiss her, but if she was this covered in dirt and blood, he was probably worse. “Thanks,” he said, instead.

He let go of her hand.

She smiled. “Anytime. Well, everytime, now, since all our potions are gone.” She pulled away from him. “Hardtack?”

No more potions. If he was hurt again, she’d need to use magic to heal him. There was no going back.

“All right,” he said.

***

They ate, and slept, and then he almost died again.

They had climbed a tower they’d spotted, crossing to it via a long, narrow bridge attached to a ruined building. The bridge was so thin that they couldn’t cross it together; he went first, Valerie inching along behind him. They thought perhaps there’d be a door, or another way in. The tower had been inaccessible from the bottom; from the bridge, the way was blocked.

“This can’t be the Tower of Mzark anyway,” Valerie said, kicking the bottom of the blocked door. “We’d be able to get in, Marcurio did. Anyway, I think he said something about how it had a face on the side. Like a giant Dwemer face, in metal.”

She sat down on the stone platform, frustrated. There were open walls on two sides of them, the bridge on one side, the blocked door on the other. Argis set his rucksack down next to her and stepped closer to the edge, peering down. Nothing but blackness. He sighed.

Valerie had opened up Marcurio’s map and was studying it again. He scanned the ruins around them, looking for any sign of life, keeping watch while she rested. “Argis,” she said, “Do you even remember where we came in? Because I don’t.”

He looked down at her, shaking his head. “No. There was that little house, I remember, where the dead alchemist was. But I can’t even see it now.” He looked back out into Blackreach, spread out around them in all directions, unending. He could see old ruined buildings, those creepy glowing mushrooms. In the distance, a huge golden statue stood at attention. Argis frowned, wondering if it was a Dwarven centurion. He’d have to point it out to Valerie, make sure they didn’t—

Something flew past his face, and he turned, diving on top of Valerie and pushing her roughly to her back on the stone.

She shrieked, another projectile whisking over their heads, right where Valerie’s face would have been had she still been sitting.

“Stay down,” he grunted at her. Whatever was flying at them was stronger than an arrow. Crossbow, he thought. Mounted somewhere. He got to his knees and drew and strung the Dwarven bow, twisting toward the source of the crossbow arrows. He narrowed his eyes, pulling back the bow’s string. He could see it, in the distance, the big Dwemer mechanism mounted on the ledge and behind it, the pale, corpse-like figure of a Falmer, aiming at him.

He let go of the arrow, holding his breath as he waited for it to hit its mark—but then something hit his shoulder, hard, knocking the air out of him, and he was tumbling backwards, over the edge of the tower.

He heard Valerie scream his name and he closed his eyes as he started to fall, bracing himself for the end.

But his body jolted, roughly, stopping him from falling, and he opened his eyes and looked up. Valerie was on her stomach on the stone, half hanging over the edge, holding his left forearm in a vice-like grip with both hands. He was dangling in mid-air, and she looked more frightened than he’d ever seen her.

There was nothing he could grab on to, no way he could help her. His right hand lost its grip on the Dwarven bow and it plummeted toward the blackness. Valerie grasped his arm tighter. But he was too heavy, and he felt himself slipping.

“Let go,” he told her. His weight was too much for her, and she slid forward, hanging off the edge even further. “Valerie, let go!” he yelled, more frightened for her than for himself. “I’m going to drag you with me, _please_ —”

“No!” she yelled, terrified. “I can’t, I can’t—” His arm twisted further, half an inch more out of her hands. The circlet with the blue stones tumbled off her head, whisking past him as it fell.

“Let go,” he said again, calmer now. “Valerie, look at me.” He could feel his body swinging in the dead underground air. He thought he might have a few seconds, if that.

She met his stare, her eyes wide with panic.

“You have to let me go,” he said. He slipped another inch out of her grip.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He slipped further. “Valerie,” he gasped. He twisted his head, looking down at the darkness below him.

He wasn’t afraid of dying. That wasn’t it. He realized, as he swung there, inching closer and closer to falling to his death, that he was more scared of leaving Valerie alone than he was of his inevitable fall. He was more scared of never seeing her face again, never seeing her look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers, never taking her in his arms and kissing her, never telling her how much he loved her, never...

“Valerie, I—” He turned his head back to her, hoping to tell her, hoping to see her face one more time before he fell.

But instead of her lovely features twisted in terror, in desperation, she was staring at him with the expression he loved, fierce and strong and brave, with her eyes narrowed and her jaw set, and she tightened her grip on his wrist and said, “Argis, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said, and he did, with all his heart, with everything inside him, with everything he was. “Yes.”

She let go, and he fell.

There was a brief sensation of weightlessness, of floating in the darkness as Valerie’s face, her outstretched hands, grew smaller and smaller as he fell further away from her. If the woman he loved was the last thing he’d get to see on Nirn, he told himself, he would take it, and go to Sovngarde gladly with the image of her burned on his eyes forever.

But then there was what could only be described as a lurch, and his body jolted slightly, rocking back and forth gently in mid-air.

He was no longer falling, but hanging, suspended, in total nothingness.

He saw, rather than felt, the pale green glow that started to surround him, growing stronger and brighter as he stared at himself in disbelief. And then, impossibly, he was falling _up_ , moving closer and closer to the tower where he fell from, closer to Valerie, to—

Valerie. Valerie was doing this, with her magic.

She was standing on the edge of the tower, both hands out, palms open toward him, shooting green light in his direction. Her face was strained terribly with effort, her teeth bared in pain. He could see the veins standing out in her forehead. But still, she lifted him with her magic, groaning and raising her hands higher as he floated up and up, not daring to move, even to breathe.

Finally, with a scream, she pulled him back over the edge. He collapsed on the stone, trembling and gasping, his heart pounding. He looked, briefly, back over the edge and into the blackness, then rolled over to stare at the cracked and crumbling roof of the tower.

“Argis,” Valerie whispered, and he turned to look at her, his arms and legs still shaking. He was having trouble believing what had just happened. He knew that she could move objects; he remembered the chair in Winterhold that she’d lifted with Tolfdir, the bottles of mead in Ivarstead, that she’d made to dance on the table. But he was easily twice her size, he had no idea how much power that she had just used, how much of her magic she’d just given away in order to save his life. “Argis, are you all right?”

“Valerie,” he gasped, “What did you do?”

Her nose was bleeding from both nostrils, blood dripping down into her mouth. She had burst the blood vessels in her left eye; against the darkness of her pupil, it looked angry and red. Her whole face was white, paler than he’d ever seen her. He could see the frantic beating of her pulse in the hollow of her neck.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, looking at the blood on it before looking back up at him, shocked. Then she fell to her knees.

He crawled over to her. She was holding her hands out, palms up, opening and closing them.

“It’s gone,” she said, desperate. “My magic, I’ve used it all, I…”

He swore, sitting up and taking her hands in his. “All of it? Are you sure…”

She nodded. “I can’t feel anything.” She opened her hands again, shaking them. “Argis, this has never happened before…” She sounded terrified.

“It’s fine,” he told her. He held her face in his hands, stroking her hair away from her eyes, trying to reassure her. “You’ll be fine, we’ll just rest here, and we’ll eat a bit, and…” He was fooling himself; they had no magicka potions and she would have to sleep for hours, for days maybe, to get her magic back, and they both knew it. And then there was the matter of whether they’d been heard by now…

From near them, on the other side of the narrow bridge to the tower, came a low, hissing sound. He looked, dreading what he’d see: Falmer, crawling over the stone, looking for them.

He swallowed. “We have to move,” he told her. “Now.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide and afraid in the dark. She shook her head, whimpering. “I can’t make my armor...”

He swore again and stood up on shaky legs, trying desperately to figure out what to do, how to protect her. He spied his bag on the ground and a brief vision of the two of them climbing to the Throat of the World crossed his mind. He had carried both of their bags, then, his on his back, hers on his front.

“Get up,” he said. He swung his bag onto his back, pulling Spellbreaker off and sliding it onto his left arm. He held out his other hand to Valerie, pulling her to her feet. “I’m carrying you, we’re getting the fuck off this tower.”

“To _where_?”

His heart dropped. The Falmer were coming, Valerie was out of magic and had no protection, and they were still lost. He stared hopelessly out into the dark, scanning what little of the horizon he could see. And then, by some miracle of whatever Gods were brave enough to look down on this awful place, through the blackness, Argis saw another tower, tall and dark, with a golden face carved into one side.

“There,” he said, pointing. “We’re going there.” He scooped her up with his shield arm and she clung to him, Spellbreaker pressed against her back.

“Hold on,” he told her. She tightened her grip, pressing her face into his neck, and he ran.

***

They didn’t die on their way to the Tower of Mzark.

He sprinted quickly past the Falmer, and stuck to the darkness once they were back on the ground. Aside from a small volley of arrows that thankfully bounced off Spellbreaker without hitting either one of them, everything either ignored them or didn’t bother to give chase as he ran past, Valerie still clinging to his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. He thought, perhaps, that the Gods were on their side, and he crossed the bridge to the tower with the golden face, feeling triumphant.

He set her down on her feet on the stone and closed the heavy door behind them. They were in a lift, and he shoved the lever, breathing heavily as the mechanism took them up, metal gears grinding from a millennia of disuse.

“You all right?” he asked her, scanning her over quickly. The lift’s doors opened on an old stone chamber, burnt books scattered over every possible surface. Two huge, broken pipes poked through the ceiling, emitting hot steam. Through an open doorway on the other side of the room, he could see another room with a stone ramp carved into the wall on both sides. Some sort of Dwarven metal contraption hung from the ceiling, concentric circles with glowing green stones. Beyond that was another lift, to the surface.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking around as she got her bearings. “I’m fine, I… Argis, you… You did it. This is it, this is the Tower of Mzark. We made it!” She beamed at him and he smiled back, feeling like a king.

The room they were in had a couple of bedrolls around an old fire pit. He thought that they might be able to rest here, for a bit, before grabbing the Scroll and getting up to the surface again, let Valerie regain her energy and her magicka. She looked exhausted, drained, despite her relief at finding the tower. After all they’d just been through, he thought, they deserved a break.

But then... everything _really_ went to shit.

The huge pipes above their heads started to make a rattling, scratching noise, the same noise they’d heard earlier, in the room where she’d healed him. But instead of quieting, like the noise had done then, it got louder and louder. They looked up.

“No,” Valerie whispered. “No, no, no…”

“Get the Scroll,” he barked. “Grab it and take the lift to the surface as soon as you have it. I’ll hold them off.”

“I won’t go without you!” she cried.

“Then hide,” he told her, still staring up at the ceiling. She stood there, frozen. “Hide!” he shouted, and she jumped and scurried behind him, disappearing into the other room.

He stood in the doorway, blocking it, and drew his sword, and waited.

There were five of them, that came down out of the pipes. Argis no longer had the Dwarven bow, so he had to wait, crouched in a battle stance, for them to come to him. Luckily, none of them seemed to be archers. Two had swords and shields, one a war axe. One held a twisted staff. The final one was the biggest, and held only a sword. He hung back, skittering towards the wall, his head tilted, listening.

The one with the war axe was first, swinging wildly at his face. Argis blocked the swing with Spellbreaker, then took him out in two slices of the ebony sword. He felt a sharp pain behind him, in his shoulder blade, and knew that the one with the staff had just hit him with lightning. Valerie’s necklace would take care of most of the damage, and he powered through, advancing on the two smaller Falmer, the ones with swords and shields.

He’d fought three on one before, Forsworn, mostly, and fighting Falmer was similar, especially the wild, feral way they swung their weapons, like they had nothing to lose. He ducked one shot of the lightning staff so that the bolt hit one of the other two; when the second Falmer turned in surprise at the sound of the scream, he used it to his advantage and took its head off with the ebony sword. He went to put his sword through the heart of the one that had been hit by the lightning staff, but it was already dead, collapsed on the floor.

He turned, holding up Spellbreaker to advance on the Falmer with the staff. From this angle, with Spellbreaker for protection, he was nearly unstoppable, and the Falmer was wearing almost no armor and died quickly, hissing through its sharp teeth as it collapsed, blood bubbling up through its mouth. The lightning staff clattered to the ground, spinning, and stopped a few feet away on the floor.

He took a breath. There was one left. He looked to where he’d last seen the biggest one, the one with just the sword, but the walls around him were empty. His heart dropping, he raised his eyes to the open doorway that connected the room he was in to the room where Valerie was hiding. Standing in the center was the final Falmer. It held up its left hand, shooting ice at Argis and hitting him square in the chest.

It was so cold it burned, and Argis keeled over, frozen. As he fell, he caught sight of Valerie behind the Falmer, watching him fall, clutching the Scroll in her arms.

 _Run_ , he tried to scream. _Run, run!_ But his mouth wasn’t working, and all he could do was watch in horror as the Falmer turned to her, its sword flashing in the air, and oh Gods, he couldn’t look, he couldn’t—

“ _FEIM!_ ” she shouted, and ran, the Falmer giving chase and following her up a narrow stone ramp that clung to the wall. The sword went through her once, twice, three times, sliding through her body like air. She reached the top of the ramp, her body flickering as it became solid again. Argis tried to get up, to go to them, but he could barely move more than his arms.

“Feim!” she yelled, as the Falmer approached her slowly, sword in hand. “Feim, feim!” But it was just a word, no power behind it, and Argis knew it hadn’t been long enough for the shout to recharge fully.

They were going to die here, he thought, for what seemed like the hundredth time. The Falmer kept climbing up the ramp, closer to where Valerie had backed herself against the wall. Argis crawled forward on his arms, dragging himself, still half-frozen, across the stone floor, trying in vain to get to her, to protect her. They were going to die without defeating Alduin, without ever even seeing the sun again.

The Falmer raised his sword. Valerie was going to die, and he had failed her—

“Argis!” Valerie screamed. “Argis, help me!”

His hand brushed against the discarded lightning staff, and before he’d even thought about it, he grabbed it, pointing it at the Falmer.

 _Help her_ , he thought, and magic shot out of the staff. He watched as the lightning twisted through the air, almost beautiful in its destruction, lighting up the cold stone of the tower, hitting its mark right over the Falmer’s heart.

It dropped its sword and clawed at its chest, gasping, before it keeled over, falling off the ramp and hitting the floor below with a sickening crunch of bones.

By the time Valerie climbed down off the ramp, he’d managed to get to his hands and knees. She tugged him to his feet, one arm still clutching the Elder Scroll, and, one of his arms slung over her shoulder, they stumbled into the second room, past the golden Dwarven mechanism and over the dead body of the big Falmer. They walked through one final doorway, a disapproving Dwemer face glaring down at them, and into the lift. Valerie pushed the lever and they rose to the surface in silence, clinging to each other.

When the door opened, they spilled out into the snow, into the sun. Argis wiped tears off his face roughly; Valerie was sobbing, too.

After a minute, when he could move again fully and he and Valerie had both calmed down, he helped her drag the gate across the lift. “They won’t come through,” she said. “They can’t get to the surface through here, but… just in case.” She rubbed at her face.

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and walked down the few stairs from the lift, back into the snow. He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost her. She was right there in front of her, but he kept hearing her scream...

“Argis,” she said. He raised his eyes to her. She was standing at the top of the steps. The sun was so bright it was almost blinding.

“Argis, you… You used magic… to _save_ me,” she said. Her expression was full of wonder, like she was truly seeing him for the first time.

He felt undone, like he was open, vulnerable and exposed in front of her.

He swallowed. “It was just a staff.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t the staff. It… the magic, the power, it came from inside you.” She took her hand, laying it flat over her own heart. “Argis, can you feel it?”

He mirrored her, picking up his own hand and placing it over the left side of his chest. He didn’t know what magic felt like. All he had felt when he picked up the staff was desperation, and fear, and the strong, coursing need to protect her, to keep her safe.

All he had thought about was how much he loved her, and maybe that was power enough.

The snow fell lightly, swirling through the wind blowing around them. His heart beat loudly under his hand.

He nodded.

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear her.

He swallowed. “You needed me. What else could I do?”

And then all at once she was running at him, dashing down the stairs and crossing the gap between them, stretching up on her tiptoes in front of him, pulling at his shoulder, one hand clasping his face, pulling him down to her.

“Argis,” she gasped, her face, her mouth, barely an inch from his. “Oh, Argis.”

And then she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses with exhaustion* 
> 
> I did it guys, they're making out, look, look!


	27. Wake Up

Kissing Valerie was better than he ever could have imagined.

And, all right, there was blood all over their faces and his neck was twisted from where she had tugged him down to her and frankly, they both didn’t smell that great, but—

She kissed him. She had kissed _him_ , with a sweetness and a tenderness that nearly tore him in two. And he loved her, he fucking loved her, and her lips were soft and her body was warm and crushed against him, and they were both here, out in the snow under the sun, and alive, alive, _alive_ —

“Valerie,” he gasped against her lips, blown away by the power of what he felt for her, the sensation of his heart coming undone.

It was her name that did it. He felt her stiffen; she pulled away. One of his hands had tangled in her hair, cradling the back of her head; the other lay at the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. She stepped back, and his hands fell to his sides, useless.

She looked stricken, afraid. Her hand reached up, as if to touch his face, but she pulled it down. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No,” he said. His voice sounded strangled. “No, Valerie, I…”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She backed up, turned away.

He caught her arm. “Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t—”

She faced him, shaking her head. “I can’t…”

“I want this,” he told her. “I want this, I want you, Valerie, I—”

She closed her eyes.

“—I _love_ you,” he finished.

It hung in the air, unreturned. Seconds passed.

He let go of her arm.

Valerie blinked her eyes open. They were full of tears. “I can’t do this, Argis. Please don’t make it harder for me,” she whispered.

He felt like she had struck him. “But… _Why_?”

She let out a little moan, putting her hands up to cover her face.

He steadied himself, pushing his feet hard against the ground. “Valerie, I love you,” he repeated. “I love you, I want… I want to _be_ with you. You have to know, you must know how I feel by now. Please,” he said, begging her. “Valerie, please.”

When she pulled her hands from her face, she had stopped crying. Her jaw was set. She started at the ground, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Argis, I need you to go back to Markarth—”

“What?” he said, shocked. “No!”

“Wait for me in Vlindrel Hall until I send for you.”

“No, no, no—” He reached for her, and she took another step back from him. “We’re going to Ivarstead. We have to go back to the Throat of the World, back to Paarthurnax, we have the Scroll—”

“You’re going back to Vlindrel Hall.”

“Like fuck I am!” he cried out, his confusion giving way to anger. “Valerie, what in Oblivion are you playing at?”

She looked him in the eye. “Fine. If you won’t go back to Markarth, I release you from my service.”

Gods, this was like a nightmare come to life. _“No!”_

“You can report back to Jarl Igmund. I’ll give you a good reference—”

“No! Valerie, stop!” He reached over, grabbing her forearms. “Stop! I told you—” he said. He tried to make his voice go back to normal. Her face was turned away from him, but he heard the little hitch in her breath that told him she was trying not to cry again. “I swore to you that I wouldn’t leave you. Don’t you remember?”

She nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

“I said I’d be by your side as long as you needed me,” he continued. “Valerie, tell me— Tell me that you don’t need me. Tell me that you really, truly don’t need me, that you don’t want me here with you—” He swallowed, trying not to cry himself. “—and I’ll go.”

She held on, for a moment, then sank against him, exhausted. “I need you.”

He exhaled, his heart pounding with relief, and helped her down to sit in the snow. He knelt next to her. She looked completely drained. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” she whispered, staring at the ground.

He pushed a stray curl away from her forehead, gently. She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “That’s not your job,” he told her. “It’s mine.”

She started to cry again, softly, and he just knelt there and held her, feeling completely bowled over by everything that had just happened. How had he gone, in less than a minute, from feeling the happiest he’d felt in his life, to feeling like the ground had been torn away beneath him?

“I… I don’t understand,” he said, finally.

“I just can’t,” she whispered.

He swallowed, trying to remember what she had said to Marcurio in the conversation he’d overheard. Something about not wanting to get involved with anyone while there were dragons to deal with…

“Now?” he asked. “Or ever?”

She looked at him. She looked miserable, covered in dried blood and tears, her nose running, her left eye still a dark, angry red. “I don’t know if that makes a difference.”

There was nothing that she could say or do, especially now, after all they’d been through, that would change the way he felt about her. “Do you still want me to go back to Markarth?”

She wiped at her face. “You can go if you want, Argis. You can always go.”

She was giving him an out, he understood. A way to save face, to nurse his wounded pride, to save himself from whatever awkwardness, uncomfortableness they’d just created. She had told him as much way back when they first met, the night after he found out she was a mage, when they talked in Vlindrel Hall, by the fire. ‘At any time,’ she had said, ‘If you want out…’

“I don’t want to go,” he told her.

She nodded, too exhausted and sad to say anything else.

They sat there in the snow, holding each other silently, for a bit longer, until Argis realized that it was getting dark. He tugged Valerie to her feet and led her to one of the tents nearby, thankful that the lift from the Tower of Mzark opened up at an abandoned campsite. He set up his bedroll and helped her into it, then made a quick fire near the entrance to the tent.

When he crawled back in after making sure the fire was as good as it was going to get, she was already asleep. He pulled off his chestpiece and settled in behind her, hoping to keep her warm again, like that night they’d spent in the abandoned tower, before Alftand, before Blackreach.

He thought she was asleep, at least. After a moment, when he’d settled, she said, so quietly he almost missed it, “I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be, Argis.”

He pressed his face into her hair. He didn’t know how to tell her that he was in too deep, now, to do anything but love her, and hope, and wait. Even if it hurt. “You’re exactly who I want,” he said, instead.

***

They slept.

He woke at dawn, and Valerie slept. She slept as he re-stoked the fire, as he ate and drank a bit for breakfast, as the sun climbed higher, as he stared off into the distance at nothing, waiting for her to wake up.

She didn’t wake up.

He shook her shoulder, early in the afternoon, trying to coax her into having some apple, drinking some water. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then she was under again.

She slept through the night.

The next morning, he couldn’t get her to wake again. He paced outside the tent, panicking, trying to decide his next steps. He knew she’d have to sleep to restore her magic, but he wasn’t expecting her to be so unresponsive, so dead to the world. He had no idea what to do, when she would wake up, or even where they were.

After a bit more pacing, he went back into the tent, piling all the blankets and clothes on top of her, so she wouldn’t get cold. He tucked the Elder Scroll behind her, then opened her palm and placed his sheathed dagger into her hand. He closed her fingers around it.

“I’ll come back,” he said, not sure if she could hear him while she slept.

Outside, in the snow, he found a stick and wrote _STAY HERE!_ in large letters in front of the tent, in case she woke up.

He walked north for about an hour before he came to a road, and he nearly cried with relief when he saw a caravan in the distance. Traders, probably, he thought, and raised both hands in the air and called for help.

It was a Khajiit who approached him, wearing steel plate armor, his mace and shield drawn. “You ask for help, my friend?” he called out, edging closer.

Argis kept his hands up. “Yes— My… my thane, she’s not well, I can’t get her to wake up, I need to get her to a healer—”

The Khajiit put his weapons down, peering closer at his face. “You are Argis the Bulwark, yes?”

“I, I— Yes,” Argis said, dropping his hands in surprise.

The Khajiit let out a sharp whistle towards the caravan in the distance, which rolled to a stop. Then he put his mace and shield away. “Lead me to Valerie, friend. Khajiit walks in your footsteps.”

He led the Khajiit, who told him his name was Kharjo, back to the campsite by the lift. Ri’saad, it turned out, had spread the story of how Argis saved him from the bandit with the warhammer across all the caravans in Skyrim, and Kharjo had recognized him immediately, thanks to his scars and his tattoo. He had met Valerie once before as well, it turned out—she had, in Kharjo’s words, “very kindly” offered to retrieve an amulet for him, although he hadn’t seen her since then, and didn’t know whether she’d found it.

Back at the campsite, Valerie hadn’t moved, and his message in the snow was undisturbed. Argis gathered his things and he and Kharjo carried her, still sleeping, back to the road and the caravan.

“We are on our way to Dawnstar,” Kharjo said. “There is a healer there, a priest. He will help you.”

Argis nodded, too worried to say anything else.

The leader of the caravan, Ahkari, made room for Valerie in the back. She took one look at Argis and told him to rest, too, explaining that they still had several hours on the road before they made it to Dawnstar. Argis curled up in the caravan, next to Valerie, and let the sounds of the road and the swaying of the cart lull him into an uneasy sleep.

When they stopped in Dawnstar, Argis woke with a start, his mouth and eyes feeling gritty. He and Kharjo carried Valerie into the first building they saw, which was thankfully an inn. One of the guards patrolling the street in front of the inn started to say something about Kharjo not being allowed inside, but Kharjo hissed at him, his ears turned back, until the guard backed off.

Once through the doorway they approached the innkeeper, who saw them and held his hands in his hair, still clutching the rag he had been using to wipe the wooden counter.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said, looking at Kharjo’s armor, Argis’ dirtied, bloody face, and Valerie held unconscious between them, her head lolling to the side.

“We need a room,” Argis barked. “Now. She’s sick.”

The innkeeper backed away further. “I… You see…”

From behind Argis’ right side came the rough, accented voice of a Dunmer. “Thorig, do you not recognize her? This is the woman who lifted Vaermina’s curse, who saved the city from being plagued by eternal nightmares! Give them a room, for the love of Mara, can’t you see she’s not well?” To Argis, he said, “My name is Erandur. I’m a trained healer, young man. I’ll take a look at your friend for you.”

As Thorig hurried to unlock a room for them, Argis turned to the Dunmer. Underneath his hood, he could see a lined, serious face, sharp cheekbones and a dark, neat beard. “Thank you,” Argis said, “Thank you, so much… I…”

Erandur patted him on the shoulder, urging him to the newly open room. “Time enough for that later, young man, time enough for that later.”

The room the innkeeper showed them to was absurdly large for having only a small, single bed. They laid Valerie down on it, then stepped back when Erandur stepped forward, his palms open and glowing. He ran his hands over her, an inch above her skin, top to bottom, then looked up at Argis and said, “She’s used too much magic, hasn’t she?”

Argis nodded. “She saved me, lifted me, with telekinesis. It… it did something to her, and I… She went to sleep and now I can’t wake her...” He thought he was going to cry. What if she never woke up?

Erandur’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, that would certainly do it. Not to worry, young man. She just needs to sleep, to recover herself. Magic is so much a part of us who have it, that sometimes it’s a shock to our system when it’s gone. She’ll wake, and be well, in time.”

“It’s been almost two days,” Argis said, helpless. “How much longer?”

Erandur shrugged. “A day? A week? We just need to keep her comfortable. Do you have any potions to restore her magicka?”

Argis shook his head.

“I’ll see what I can find from my stores,” Erandur said. “They’ll help her when she wakes. Stay here. I will return.” He slipped out of the room, resting his arm on Argis’ shoulder as he passed. “Have faith. Mara is kind.”

When he was gone, Kharjo made a face. “Priests.”

Argis frowned. The old Dunmer was a bit odd, but it seemed like his heart was in the right place.

Through the open doorway, they could see the innkeeper watching them nervously. Kharjo sighed, shaking his head. “I will leave you now, so the cowardly innkeeper does not have to wet himself in my presence. Come see us in the morning, if you can. We will be outside the city for three days, then we head south.”

“Thank you,” Argis said. “Thank you, really, if you hadn’t stopped…” He shuddered to think at what would have happened if he hadn’t seen Kharjo on the road, having to face another night, in the snow, with Valerie not moving next to him. “Where will the caravan go next, after this?”

“Riften,” Kharjo said. His ears turned flicked back a bit. “It’s a city of thieves, but there is much business to be done.” He turned, glancing at Valerie. “May the moons light your path, Argis the Bulwark.”

“Yeah,” said Argis. “Uh. You too.”

He shut the door behind Kharjo as he left, then pulled the blankets over Valerie, still and silent on the little bed. He readjusted his bag by the dresser, leaning the Scroll next to it. There was a pitcher of water on one of the dressers, and he wet a cloth and tried to clean her face, although he mostly succeeded in wetting the tops of her robes. Then he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat, pulling one of Valerie’s hands into his own.

“Wake up,” he whispered to her. “Wake up.”

***

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, it was getting dark, and Erandur was sitting at the table on the opposite wall, reading one of the books there.

Argis rubbed his face. He was still holding Valerie’s hand, and he set it back on the bed gently, by her side. She slept on, in the same position he’d left her in.

“Ah,” Erandur said. “Awake, are you?” He gestured to the table in front of him, which Argis noticed had two plates of food, plus a couple of tankards and several large, blue bottles. “Come,” Erandur said. “Have some food.”

Argis stood up, stretching, and headed over to the table. There was some smoked fish, some pickled vegetables, a piece of buttered rye bread, and two hard boiled eggs. He picked up his fork and began attacking the food hungrily, realizing he hadn’t eaten in over a day.

“Thanks,” he said, when he had eaten enough to slow down and talk. “Appreciate it.”

Erandur nodded. “This town owes your thane a great deal.”

“What… what happened?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he added, as Erandur made a contemplative face.

“The town was suffering from nightmares, which were, in actuality, manifestations created by the Daedric Lord Vaermina. Valerie helped me end her terrible influence over the people of Dawnstar, before it became permanent. This was…” He paused, thinking. “Eight months ago? Perhaps a little less. She had another traveler with her, a young red-headed lad, very eager.”

“Erik,” offered Argis.

“Ah,” said Erandur. “Yes, that was it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Erandur had finished his food, and Argis tried to eat his as silently as possible.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“Argis,” said Argis, after swallowing some pickled carrots.

“If you need to see to your…” He made a vague gesture that managed to encompass Argis’ blood-stained armor, dirty hair and face. “...ablutions, Argis, I can keep watch over your thane.”

Argis hesitated, turning towards Valerie.

“You don’t want to leave her.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Argis answered anyway, after a brief hesitation. “No.”

“You love her.”

This, Argis could answer immediately, and he did, without thinking. “Yes.”

“She knows?”

“Yes.”

“And she feels…?”

Argis shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t… She said she cared about me, but she couldn’t… couldn’t...” He shoved some bread in his mouth, mostly so he wouldn’t start crying. He could feel his throat closing up again.

Erandur patted his hand. His skin was dry, almost papery, but the warmth of his touch made Argis feel a little better, a little lighter, somehow. “Trust in Mara, young man. She is the light that protects us, even when we are in dark places.” Then he added, not unkindly, “Now finish your food and go take a bath, because even Mara’s benevolence is not blind to the smell of ripe armpit.”

He did as he was told.

Once he was finished with his bath and had made his way back to the room, Erandur stood.

“I will return in the morning,” he said. “If she wakes, have her drink a potion.” He gestured to the tall blue bottles he had brought, lined up on the table. “She may be disoriented, or still feel fatigued.”

Argis thanked him, and bade him goodnight, and shut the door.

He set up his bedroll on the floor, next to her bed. He lay there in silence, in the darkness, the only other sound Valerie’s steady, even breathing. He tried to take comfort in it, and eventually, he slept.

In the middle of the night, he woke to the sound of Valerie tossing and turning in the wooden bed. He sat up, immediately; she was tangled in the blanket, thrashing. He tried to calm her, holding her in his arms, but she just turned to him, panicked, her eyes open but blank and unseeing. He called her name, but she twisted away from him and fell back asleep, quiet and still once more.

His heart still pounding, he sat in the chair next to her bed, holding her hand again, and waited for dawn.

***

“Argis?”

There was a hand on his face, soft and small and warm, and it made him smile. He pushed his cheek into it, like a cat, and he felt a thumb run over the scar under his eye. He heard a giggle.

“Argis?”

And he opened his eyes and there was Valerie, sitting up in bed and looking dishevelled but otherwise back to normal, giving him her little smile, with the corner of her mouth turned up.

“Valerie!” he gasped, and surged forward, his arms closing around her in a hug so tight that she yelped. “Thank the gods, thank the…”

“Can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry…” He pulled away, clasping her hands between one of his own, and looked over her. With his other hand he touched the top of her head, her face, her shoulder, her forearm. “How are you feeling?” he asked. Her left eye was still pink, but not as dark or as angry as it had looked before.

“Fine!” she said. “Fine, I’m fine, see—” She tugged a hand away from him, conjured a little fireball in her palm. “My magic is back, I can feel it, I…” She frowned. “How long did I sleep?”

“I think it’s been three days,” Argis said. He squeezed her arm.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize— Wow.” She frowned. “I must have worried you. I’m sorry, I don’t really remember… Where are we, by the way?”

“Dawnstar,” he said. He let go of her, satisfied, and made his way across the room to the magicka potions Erandur had left.

“I thought this room looked familiar,” she murmured.

“Drink this,” he told her, holding out the bottle. “Erandur gave it to us. He said it’ll help.”

Valerie uncorked it, giving it a sniff, and then drank it quickly. Argis watched her face after she drank it, noticing her cheeks looking a little pinker.

She corked the bottle back up, paused, then sniffed again. She bent her head, lifting her arm up. “Ugh,” she said, grimacing. “I need a bath.” She made to stand up, but her legs wobbled a bit, and he caught her with his arm.

“Three days, huh?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Three days.”

He walked with her to the inn’s bathing room, located off behind the bar. She was steadier by the time they got there. The innkeeper’s daughter, Karita, was cleaning up some tables, and he left Valerie to it and went to see if he could find some extra clothes for her. She was a lot taller than Valerie, and thinner, but she pulled a dress out of her wardrobe and told him to keep it, and that she would get some food together for them to eat when they were done.

He knocked on the door to the bath, the pile of Karita’s clothing folded in his arm. “It’s me,” he said, and Valerie called him in.

He walked in a few steps, staring at the ceiling. “I have some clothes, if you want to change—” He kicked something with his foot, a big metal jug, and swore as it clattered, spinning halfway across the room.

He heard Valerie giggle. “I put the screen up, Argis, you can look where you’re going.”

He looked. There was, as Valerie said, a screen with a faded red curtain in front of the bath, blocking his view. A threadbare towel was draped over it.

“Oh,” he said.

“Sit down,” she called from behind the screen. “I won’t be long. I don’t even have any of my stuff, anyway. I hate using the inn’s soaps, my hair is going to be a disaster…”

He put the dress on the floor by the screen and sat down in a chair by the wall, his palms on his thighs, staring at the floor. Valerie had stopped muttering to herself and all he could hear were little splashes of water as she washed. Her dirty robes were in a pile on the floor, her necklaces and rings in a little bowl next to them.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked. “How we got here, I mean?”

He cleared his throat and filled her in on what had happened after he couldn’t wake her, how Kharjo and and Ahkari brought them to Dawnstar, how Erandur had sat with him and checked on her and brought them some potions. And speaking of potions, they would need to stock up again, he said, maybe there was an alchemist in town. And a blacksmith, where he could look for a new bow, now that he’d lost the Dwarven one. The Khajiits might have some new clothes for her—he could wear the same things over and over again, he told her, it didn’t matter to him, but he knew that she’d need new dresses, and another pair of robes—and maybe they could catch a ride with the caravan back to Ivarstead in a few days. Hopefully she’d be back to normal by then, and could rest a little more on the trip down, so—

“Argis,” she said. He fell silent. “Are we not going to talk about the other night?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

He heard her sigh, the water shifting. He pictured her leaning against the edge of the tub, lifting her head up to the ceiling, her hair wet and curling on her neck.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked, quietly.

“No.” Now that he had overheard her conversation with Marcurio, now that he knew that she cared about him, he couldn’t bring himself to be as upset as he was before, in Whiterun, when he thought she didn’t have feelings for him. Now he knew she did feel the same way that he did—or close to it, anyway. But there was something holding her back from acting on it, admitting it to him, and he didn’t know how to broach it.

“Do you… Do you want to pretend it didn’t happen?” she asked.

That was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d remember the way her lips felt on his, how his name sounded when she gasped it, clinging to him, for the rest of his life. “No,” he said again, stronger this time. “No. I just…” He looked at the screen. He wished he could see her face. “I just... I don’t know what you want from me, Valerie.”

She was silent. After a moment, she replied, “What I want and what I should do are two very different things, Argis.”

He made a frustrated noise. “I don’t understand. You _kissed_ me, Valerie. You kissed _me_! After I thought…” He paused. “You kissed me,” he said again. “You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t feel…” He trailed off.

“No,” she acknowledged. “I wouldn’t have.”

Gods, why did everything have to be so complicated? “I want to be with you,” he told her. He couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud again, after it had all gone so spectacularly wrong after Blackreach, but he had nothing to lose. “Do you want to be with me, Valerie?”

“Argis…”

“I deserve an answer,” he said. He swallowed. His heart was pounding. “I deserve that much, at least, don’t I?”

“You deserve a lot more than that,” she said, trying to be cheerful, but it seemed forced, and her voice was shaky.

“Valerie, _please_.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking, and he knew she was crying. “Yes, all right? Yes. I do want to be with you, Argis, but I can’t.”

“But _why_?” he asked, frustrated, and put his head in his hands. “I don’t understand,” he said again. “Is it… because I’m your housecarl?” She had never treated him like a servant, never made him feel any less than she was, but maybe there _was_ a taboo he was unaware of...

She let out a little noise that was almost a laugh. “No, of course not.”

“Is it… Do you want to wait? Do you want to wait, until after we defeat Alduin? Is that… is that what you need?” Marcurio had said something along those lines, hadn’t he? That she was holding off on relationships until the whole Dragonborn thing had blown over?

“Until after we defeat Alduin?” she echoed. She sniffed.

“Yes,” he said.

“Until after we defeat Alduin,” she said again, almost to herself. “All right.”

“All right,” he repeated. “All right.” He let out a breath, relieved.

But something was odd, like he should be happy, but couldn’t quite let go enough to believe it. He felt frustrated, still, like she was talking in riddles, like she was holding something back. Like there was something he didn’t quite grasp, because she was holding it just out of his reach.

He wished he could see her face.

After a minute of quiet, he heard the sound of splashing water and imagined Valerie washing the tears from her face. She got out of the bath, and he watched her feet through the open bottom of the screen, making little puddles on the floor. The towel was tugged off, then her hand reached around to grab the dress from the floor.

The towel dropped on the ground, and he watched her feet wiggle as she stepped into the dress.

“This is what Karita gave you?” Valerie said, after a moment.

“Yes?” he asked, confused.

“Argis, I can’t wear this, this is obscene.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“We’re not exactly the same size…” she said, patiently.

He frowned, picturing what Karita had been wearing and how it fit. He pictured Valerie in something similar.

“My breasts are literally falling out of it,” she added, helpfully.

“Uh,” he said, shaking himself out of his stupor. _Idiot, idiot, idiot…_ “I’ll see if I can find you a tunic.”

After Alduin, he told himself, as he closed the door behind him and walked back toward the bar again. After Alduin.

***

There was, he discovered, rather a lot to do and a short time in which to do it. Argis lent Valerie his other clean shirt, which she pulled on over Karita’s dress, and he tried not to think too much about what was going on underneath it. They ate breakfast with Erandur, who’d arrived at the inn by then, and Valerie asked him a lot of questions about restoration, and why it’d taken her so long to recover. To make sure that her magic was no longer weakened, Erandur asked her to cast the strongest spell she knew. She summoned Sparky, in a haze of purple light, and Karita screamed and dropped a tray of drinks and hid behind the bar, refusing to come out. Valerie, sheepish, banished him.

Argis left a large tip.

After eating, they went to the Khajiit caravan, where Valerie embraced Kharjo, and reached around her neck to unclasp one of the necklaces she wore, pressing it into his hand. He seemed, to Argis, truly moved, so much so that he told Valerie he would come to her aid, to fight for her and protect her if she needed it. She glanced at Argis as she declined gracefully, saying that she appreciated the offer, and asked, instead, for a ride down to Ivarstead when they headed to Riften.

Ahkari took Valerie into one of the tents to take her measurements, then promised her two new dresses in as many days. They stocked up on more things they’d lost in Blackreach: a new bag and bedroll for Valerie, some more clothes for him, some food that would keep for a while, some small health potions. When they went to pay, Ahkari shooed their septims away, saying that Ri’saad would have her head if she took money from either of them.

On their walk to the alchemist, Valerie said they’d have to find a way to hide a bag of septims in their cart when the caravan dropped them off in Ivarstead.

Argis left Valerie at the alchemist’s, and followed the woman’s directions to the local blacksmith, on the other side of the bay. He found a Nord man and a Redguard woman working the forge, the woman heavily pregnant. After he’d introduced himself and asked to see the bows they had in stock, the man, Rustleif, presented him with an Elven bow.

Argis shook his head. “Too light. As soon as I go to pull it off my back I’ll wind up flinging it in the air. Got anything heavier?”

The man and the woman looked at each other. “We do have something…” began Seren, Rustleif’s wife. “It just came in the other week, off a sailor who’d come back from Solstheim. We’ve never seen anything like it.” She held up a finger. “Just a moment.” Rising awkwardly from the bench, she walked toward the house, swaying slightly from the weight in her belly.

“Due in a few weeks and still works the forge,” Rustleif said. “Won’t listen to a word I say or let me lift a finger to help her.” He was complaining, but sounded proud.

She returned carrying a large bow, crafted from a pale metal Argis had never seen before. He held it in his hands; it was pale and shimmered softly as he twisted it, inspecting the craftsmanship. It felt cool to the touch.

“What is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Stalhrim,” said Seren. “A material only found in Solstheim. It’s enchanted, as well, I’m told. A frost enchantment. Supposed to be very strong. Neither of us are archers, so we haven’t tried it, but…”

Argis lifted the bow, testing it. “Would you mind if I…?”

Rustleif rose, pulling an arrow from a nearby table. “Be our guest.”

Argis turned, facing the little bay. He notched the arrow and pulled back the string, then let go. It sailed so far he couldn’t even see it slip beneath the water. The Dwarven bow, which he’d always thought was very powerful, paled in comparison.

“Incredible,” he murmured to himself, then turned back to the blacksmiths. “I’ll take it. How much?”

The pair looked at each other, communicating without speaking, the way couples who’d been together for a long time could. Argis felt a pang of envy.

“You’re traveling with that little mage, aren’t you?” asked Rustleif. “The one who helped Erandur when we were all having nightmares…”

Seren touched her stomach gently.

Argis nodded. “Yes. Valerie. I’m her housecarl.”

They looked at each other again. “Normally we’d ask for close to 2,000 septims,” he continued.  

Argis raised his eyebrows.

“It’s so rare, you see. We may never come across it again. But… for her, we’ll let you have it for...” He glanced at his wife.

“Five hundred,” she said.

Argis nodded. He had no idea what it was worth, truthfully. But it was beautiful and it worked and he needed a bow, and he had the money. And they needed it, too, he thought, glancing at Seren’s hand on her stomach. “I accept. That’s very generous of you, thank you both.” He pulled a coin purse from his belt, and handed it to Seren. The bow he gave back to Rustleif. “Consider that my deposit. We leave with the caravan the day after tomorrow. I’ll come back for the rest before then.”

They waited until he was down the steps before they started celebrating.

For the next couple of days, he busied himself with exploring while Valerie spent most of her time with the alchemist, rebuilding her stash of potions. She was a kind, older woman, who told him several times that his parents must be proud of him. Once, when Valerie wasn’t paying attention, she quietly offered him a large stamina potion, telling him it was very popular with the young men, glancing not-too-subtly at Valerie, who was in the corner grinding something with a pestle.

He didn’t have the heart to correct her about either assumption.

There was an odd little museum further down the path, where he spent an uncomfortable hour avoiding questions from the over-enthusiastic owner, who gave him the creeps. He talked to Kharjo, asked him about how he came to Skyrim and what he thought of it, and the two of them traded some tips on blocking after Kharjo examined Spellbreaker. He brought the rest of his septims to the blacksmith couple, and sat with Seren for awhile while she worked the forge, talking about his sister in the Reach and her family back in Hammerfell. He asked her about that fruit Valerie had told him about, as big as a cabbage but hard on the outside, that you could cut in half and drink from. She sighed, looking at the snow all around them, dirty and crusted with smoke and soil and gods knew what, and told him she’d give anything to taste the fruit of her home once again.

He hiked up the hill to Erandur’s shrine, located in a rundown tower, and Erandur served him surprisingly strong tea and tried to gently probe into his love life. Argis let him, mainly because he was still confused, and Valerie had gone back to acting like everything was normal again. Argis tried, too, except now it was harder. Now she was wearing his shirt to sleep in and he thought his heart would break at the sight of her, sitting on the bed in their room at the inn with her legs tucked underneath her, writing in her journal while he sat at the table across the room and tried to make it look like he was reading.

Now he knew she cared about him. Now he had told her he loved her. Now it was different.

They didn’t talk about it.

After Alduin, he told himself, for what seemed like the thousandth time. After Alduin.

One afternoon, he stood at the shores of the little bay, watching the ships bob in the water, wondering what it would be like to sail on one, to just board one and sail away to Solstheim or even just up the coast to Solitude, to be someone who could just up and go, to be someone who didn’t care about who, and what, he was leaving behind.

He stood there until the sun set, and the aurora came out, and he thought of Valerie and what she was doing, for Skyrim and all her people, for all of Nirn, for time itself. He thought of her smile, of the soft warmth of her lips on his, of the way she tugged his tunic over her legs when she folded them beneath her on the little bed in their room. Then he turned, and walked back to the inn.

***

On the day they left for the Rift, they sat in the back of Ahkari’s cart and let Dawnstar fall away behind them. Argis glanced at Valerie; she was paging through her journal, looking contemplative.

“Everything all right?” he asked her.

She looked up, smiling at him. “Fine. Just thinking of all the things I have left to do, still. And when I’ll have a chance to do them.”

He nodded. “Valerie?” he asked, after a few moments. The cart rolled steadily along the path.

“Mmm hmm?” She turned a page in her journal. She was wearing one of the new dresses that Akhari altered for her. It was dark blue; Argis had never seen her in that color before, but she looked lovely. It made her eyes look darker, her lips redder. She bit her bottom lip as he watched her, scribbling something in her journal.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course you can, Argis.”

Between them lay the Elder Scroll, wrapped in a bit of old sackcloth. It bumped against the two of them as the cart rolled.

“Who’s Brynjolf?”

She stopped scribbling, but didn’t look up. “Wow,” she said. “Didn’t expect that.” She closed her journal. “I’m guessing you heard his name from Marcurio.”

It had been something he’d broached with Erandur. Maybe Valerie did care about him, as she said, but couldn’t be with him because she was still in love with someone else. Someone who had treated her badly, someone who still had a grip on her heart.

Erandur had shrugged. It was as good a guess as any, he had told him.

But now, watching Valerie frown, he felt awkward, like he’d been wrong to bring it up in the first place, like it was none of his business. “Kind of,” Argis said. “Look, it’s fine if you don’t want—”

“Fucking Marcurio,” she muttered. She rubbed at her forehead, then turned to him. “You never asked me why I was sent to Helgen to be executed, Argis.”

Argis blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “I… I… What?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“You never asked me why I was sent to Helgen to be executed,” she repeated, patiently.

“I…” He frowned. “You said you were arrested with a group of Stormcloaks… I… figured that you were caught in an ambush, or something.” But that _was_ odd, now that he thought about it. She definitely wasn’t a Stormcloak. And she wouldn’t have gotten entangled in a fight back then, as far as he knew she just had a few spells under her belt until she became the Dragonborn. And she had been to Cyrodiil, but the last place she’d traveled before coming to Skyrim was Morrowind, which means she would have gone through the border at—

“I was arrested for smuggling stolen jewelry between Cyrodiil and Skyrim,” she said, and his mouth fell open. “The Stormcloaks were just a coincidence. They were processed right before me.”

“For smuggling…” he attempted.

She nodded. “Stolen jewelry.”

“I…” he said. He was having trouble forming words. The thought of Valerie stealing even a sweetroll, let alone smuggling stolen jewelry across the border, was enough to make his head spin. He felt like it went against everything he knew about her. “I don’t…”

She sighed. “Let me tell you about Brynjolf, Argis.”

“You… you don’t have to—”

She held out her hand, stopping his objections. “It’s a long story. We’ve got time. Just listen.”

He nodded.

She slipped her journal into her new rucksack, tying it shut at the top. She crossed her arms in front of her, rubbing the sides of her arms like she was cold, and stared out the back of the caravan, watching the road as they bumped along. She took a breath, and started talking.

“I first came to Skyrim a little less than two years ago, through the border crossing in the southeast. The first city I came to was Riften. I was out of money, and Morrowind had been harsh and depressing, and I was tired of traveling. I wanted to stay in one place, for a while. So I found an inn, the Bee and Barb, and asked about work. It was run by an Argonian couple, and they were looking for someone to help them run the bar. I’d done that a few times in Cyrodiil, and I was there, so I got the job. They liked that I knew some alchemy, and that I could do a couple of spells—in Cyrodiil in one of the bars I worked at, we would light some of the drinks on fire before serving them, and that always got big tips. Talen-Jei, one of the innkeepers, liked to mix up interesting drinks, and I’d help, suggesting certain effects or ingredients. I only tried lighting them on fire a few times though—it didn’t get a great reception. I hadn’t realized Nords were so afraid of magic.

“After a few days, I noticed this man come into the bar. Tall Nord guy, long red hair, with a beard. Brynjolf. He’d sit without ordering, or walk around, talking to everyone. Eventually he came up to the bar and started talking to me. He was… He was very charming. He had a lovely voice, and he was very flattering, and even though I’d heard it all before—pretty much every line in existence, I’d thought—with him, it was different. He was so interested in me, in my life—he found everything I’d done fascinating, he wanted to hear about everywhere I’d been to. He was the only person in Riften I’d spoken to so far, besides the innkeepers, who wasn’t afraid of magic. He was almost obsessed with it, with the different types, so interested in how I did it and where it came from. He’d started coming in to the Bee and Barb every night, and then sometimes staying over with me, in the little room I was renting. He was so easy to talk to, and it’d been so long since I had someone that I thought cared about me, that I met someone who I wouldn’t be leaving behind in a week, someone who I could drink with and spend the night with and who’d be there in the morning, after we’d… Well. You don’t want to hear about that, I guess.”

He frowned. He didn’t.

“So. I told him everything about me. Even about my parents, that horrible fight with my sister. I cared about him, and he seemed like he cared about me too. But… as the weeks passed, and I made some other friends, something was… off. To his face, everyone was friendly, but when he wasn’t around, no one actually seemed to like him. Some of them downright disliked him, some of them even seemed afraid of him. I had gotten close with Marcurio, who would hang out at the inn sometimes; we’d vaguely known each other from the College, and it was nice to see a familiar face. He warned me about Brynjolf. A lot. That he had a bad reputation in the city, that he wasn’t who he seemed to be. I told Marc that I was a grown woman, that I could make my own decisions about who I spent time with, and he left it alone.

“But some things didn’t add up, and I started to notice. Brynjolf told me he ran his own business, importing and exporting. He had a stall in the market that he’d work sometimes, and I didn’t question it. But some things… Like, he had a lovely house, off the main square, but we spent most of our time in my cramped little room at the Bee and Barb. I only went to his house a few times, and he didn’t want me going down certain hallways, into certain rooms. And he never really wanted to talk about about how his work was going; when I’d ask he’d just say that it wasn’t going well. Sometimes he said it was like he was cursed, but I don’t think he was joking. Weirdly, he always seemed to have plenty of money. He was always giving me jewelry, necklaces and rings, like a new gift every week.

“He asked me so many questions about myself, but he hardly talked about his own life, or his background. I had to pry everything out of him, even basic things, like whether he had brothers or sisters. And he was really interested in the fact that my parents were silversmiths. More than anyone else had ever been. He’d ask my opinion about all sorts of things about silver and gold, gems. I guess I know more than the average person, because I grew up with my parents always making things, but I’m not really an expert. I kept telling him that, but it didn’t seem to matter to him—it was like he’d gotten it in his head that I knew a lot about jewelry, and wouldn’t let it go.

“And the other thing was about my magic. I’d explained to him, like I did with you, that some magic I just wasn’t good at. At the time I could only conjure Atty, which was pretty advanced for a mage in their 20s, plus a couple of little spells, like candlelight, flames, minor healing, that sort of thing. But he was fascinated by illusion magic, by the spells I told him about—invisibility, being able to calm someone who was upset. Being able to muffle your footsteps so you could walk without making a sound. He’d press me over and over again to try them, to show him, but it made my skin crawl to do it, and I hated it. But he didn’t really care, and he wouldn’t stop asking.”

She paused then, for a moment. Her arms were still crossed, and she pulled them tighter together, rubbing at the top of her arms. He reached for her cloak, which was next to him, and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled at him, in thanks, then took a breath and started talking again.

“After we’d been together for… I guess about five, six months, he asked me to do a big favor for him. He had a client who was selling her jewelry in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil, but she was too old to make the trip to Skyrim and he couldn’t be away from his work for that long. Since I was comfortable traveling, and I knew so much about jewelry—of course I didn’t, really, but he wouldn’t listen—would I go down there and take a look, make sure they were real, that he wouldn’t be getting ripped off? Honestly, I said yes mainly because I thought it would be good for us to have a little break. We kept getting into arguments, and I thought some time apart would be good. Talen-Jei and Keerava gave me the time off, and I went.

“The trip down was uneventful, and it was good being on the road again. I’d missed it. The woman in the Imperial City was kind to me, and her jewelry was beautiful, and real, as far as I could tell, so I paid what Brynjolf had arranged and went north, back to Skyrim. There were some Imperial guards at the border, and when they asked what I was doing in Cyrodiil I told them. And when they asked to see the jewelry, I showed them.

“And then they arrested me. They said that the jewelry had been stolen over a week ago, taken in a robbery, and they’d been looking for it ever since. I protested, and I got knocked out. Woke up dressed in rags in a wagon headed to Helgen. They’d taken everything I’d had with me, even my clothes. And after that… Well. You know the rest.”

She paused again, rubbing her hands together.

“So. Marcurio had been right. Brynjolf was a thief. And not just a thief. I found out later that he’s high up in the actual Thieves Guild. That hadn’t been his house; it belonged to the guildmaster, and he’d take me to it when he was away. Every gift he’d given me had been stolen. He’d lied about what he’d done for a living, lied about everything. He’d sent me to get stolen jewelry because his face was known in the Imperial City, and mine wasn’t. And the worst part… The worst part was that he’d pretended to be interested in me because he was trying to recruit me. That was why he’d been so obsessed with illusion magic, with what I knew about jewels. He’d been trying to mold me into some fucking magical jewel thief.”

She sighed.

“I wrote to Marcurio from Whiterun, telling him everything that had happened. I asked him not to tell Brynjolf anything. But Marcurio told me that when I didn’t come back, he asked around for weeks, trying to figure out what had happened to me. Eventually he heard from somewhere that I’d been arrested and sent to Helgen, and I think he thought I was dead, for a while. But, you see, he has this network, of thieves who work for him. They’re everywhere, in every city. And I know they feed him back information about me, what I’m doing. And I know that he found me, that someone told him where I was, because one day in Whiterun, after I bought Breezehome, I noticed this weird carving that someone had made on the bottom of the front door. A diamond, with two interlocking circles. I think it must have been some sort of Thieves Guild symbol. I think it means protection, because I’ve never been robbed. I’ve experimented—talked loudly at the market and the inns about new jewelry and weapons I’ve found, then left the house with the door unlocked. Once I even actually left it wide open. Nothing.

“The same mark showed up at Vlindrel Hall a few days after I bought it. Did you notice?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t.

“I think his connection in Markarth is either Endon or Kerah, because they have the same mark on their house, too, but there must be dozens of people all over, in every city—Solitude, Whiterun, even Winterhold—”

“Enthir,” Argis said, realization dawning. “It’s Enthir, in Winterhold. He offered to buy stolen goods from us. Then when I told him to get lost, he told me he had a letter to write, and asked me to give his regards to Endon.”

Valerie sighed. “Well. There you go.” She tugged the cloak tighter around her, still staring out the back of the caravan. “I’ve been back to Riften once, since then. To find Esbern. He was hiding in the Ratways, where the Thieves Guild headquarters is. We had to pass by them to get to Esbern. Sure enough, Brynjolf was down there, drinking at the bar. Marcurio distracted them, and I don’t know if anyone saw me. I’ve never been back since.”

She looked him in the eye, then, the first time she’d done so since he’d handed her her cloak. “I don’t love Brynjolf, Argis. I don’t know if I ever did. Even when things were going well, it felt like he kept part of himself locked away from me. I felt like I never really knew him. And I guess I never did. I never want to see him again. I’d like to stay out of Riften at all, if I can avoid it. I wish… I wish he still thought I was dead.”

She put her hand on his knee. He looked at it, and swallowed, wondering what to say.

“So,” she said. Her voice was soft. “Does that answer your question?”

It did, as much as it raised other ones, too. “Yeah,” he told her. He put his hand on top of hers, squeezing it slightly, twining his fingers between her own. She squeezed back.

The cart rolled along, steadily, slowly south. The sun was setting. Between them, the Elder Scroll rolled gently back and forth between their legs, under their clasped hands, a constant reminder of what fate had in store for the two of them; of the future, and everything that came after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of got away from me - they weren't even supposed to go to Dawnstar! - but there were a lot of important conversations that had to happen and I wanted to be sure I did them justice. Hope you don't hate me and/or Valerie too much :D And I am sorry this is the slowest slow burn that ever slow burned, I do promise, truly, that they will eventually wake up (hence this chapter title :D ), but a few more things need to fall into place first.


	28. Inheritance

It took three days to get back to High Hrothgar.

On top of the Throat of the World, Valerie opened the Elder Scroll. She remained in her trance for nearly an hour, her body frozen and stiff. The only thing that moved was her eyes, flickering back and forth in fear as she watched something he couldn’t see, something happening where he couldn’t go. The air twisted and rippled around her. He tried to get close to her but Paarthurnax called out a warning, forcefully pulling him back by the end of his spiked tail, away from the shimmering Time Wound.

“You are not the Dovahkiin, Vahlok,” Paarthurnax told him. “To look upon the Elder Scroll would mean only madness, for you.”

“I have to help her,” he said, useless, desperate.

“You will,” the dragon said. “You do.”

Paarthurnax kept him there, in the hollow of his wall, until they spotted a black dot, growing clearer and larger in the northern sky.

“Alduin approaches!” he cried out, letting go of Argis and lifting off into the air. Valerie staggered, coming out of her trance, the Elder Scroll falling to the ground. “Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!”

 _“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”_ she shouted, one hand and one knee on the ground, but her aim was off, and Argis watched as blue light twisted from her throat, away into the sky.

He ran to her, Spellbreaker clattering on his back, and pulled her to her feet.

“Argis,” she said, dazed and terrified. “Argis, he— He’s—”

“Ebonyflesh,” Argis told her, one hand squeezing her shoulder, the other tugging the Stahlrim bow from his back. “Cast ebonyflesh, then dragonskin. Then Sparky. Look at me, Valerie.”

She stared at him, panicked. Above them, the two dragons roared, spitting fire at each other.

“Ebonyflesh, dragonskin, Sparky,” Argis repeated. He let go of her shoulder and tugged an arrow out of his quiver, notching it as fast as he could. His hand was steady. “Come on. We can do this. We’re going to defeat him. I’m right here.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and blinked, shaking her head, and then he heard her armor herself, back in the fight. She twisted her hands up to the sky, the air around her crackling and swirling with an ancient power. He saw the purple glow out of the corner of his eye that meant she was conjuring an atronach, and he fired an arrow through the air at Alduin, first-born of Akatosh, devourer of worlds, destroyer of Nirn.

They didn’t defeat him.

His arrows and Valerie’s spells seemed to do nothing at all to Alduin when he was in the air. It was only her shout that brought him down, flying out from her throat with a blue light. When it finally connected, it glowed like a leash, like a noose, tugging on Alduin’s neck and crashing him to the ground. He was so huge that there was nothing to do but charge at him; Argis felt tiny and insignificant, like an ant attacking a cave bear.

The dragon paid no attention at all to Argis or Sparky, even treating Paarthurnax like he was nothing more than an irritating fly, buzzing to get his attention. Instead, Alduin concentrated all his power, all his hatred on Valerie, taunting her, calling her weak and arrogant. He snapped at her, roaring fire, but she dodged him, and the magic washed over her like air. Argis watched as she breathed, taking the flames inside herself, her hair crackling with lightning, her eyes white and terrible.

The sky rained fire.

There was an enormous blast of lightning, so large that Argis was knocked to the ground from the force of it. When he could move again, Alduin was in the air, soaring away, calling down to her.

“I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!”

He staggered over to where she stood. He heard Paarthurnax land on the ground behind them, huge gusts of wind blowing as he flapped his tattered wings. Around them, the ground was smoking, tall gray plumes floating up from the big holes in the snow, made by the fire that had fallen from the air.

“You truly have the voice of a dovah,” Paarthurnax rumbled, behind them. “Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory.”

Valerie stared at the sky, at Alduin’s retreating form. Argis watched her face. Her expression was unreadable; she breathed heavily, her throat moving as she inhaled. He remembered her shout, how it had sprung from her throat with a pale blue light to wrap around Alduin’s neck, connecting them, intertwining them, tying them together as they tried to destroy each other.

“It wasn’t a victory,” she said. “Not for me.”

Doom-driven. That was what Paarthurnax had called her, when they first showed him the Scroll.

Now, he thought he understood.

***

He woke up to the sound of her crying in the middle of the night, little sobs and sniffles that echoed in the silence of their cold stone room in High Hrothgar. His heart hurt.

“Valerie,” he said, and the noises stopped. “Bad dream?”

She let out a bitter little laugh, muffled by tears. “No. Not a dream. Just... my life. My... destiny.” Her voice twisted with sarcasm on the last word, but then she was crying again.

He sat up in his bed, leaning on his elbow. He held open the blanket. “Don’t cry. Come here. Come over here. Please.”

She came to him, one hand rubbing at her face, still crying, stumbling a little in the dark. She was still wearing his shirt to sleep in, the one he had given her in Dawnstar. When she slid into bed next to him, her bare feet brushed against his calves, and he hissed.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Why are your feet so cold?”

“They’re not.” She laughed again, but a real laugh, this time. “You’re just a human furnace, is all.” She settled next to him, turning to lay on her side and facing him, mirroring his position, her head resting on the opposite edge of his pillow. There was maybe six inches of space between them.

“Please don’t cry,” he said.

“I’m not,” she told him. She wiped at her eyes. “You made me laugh. I’ve stopped, see?” She gave him a trembly smile.

He smiled back. “Valerie, will you tell me… will you tell me what you saw, when you looked at the Scroll?”

“The past. Another time.” She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she remembered. “There were three warriors. All Dragonborn, maybe… They could all shout, at least. And they were all so brave, and so strong, and he just picked one of them up in his mouth and… _shook_ her, like… a cat with a mouse. Like she was nothing. And then she was dead. And I… Gods, Argis,” she said, her voice wavering again. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can,” he told her. “You _can_ , Valerie.”

She shook her head. “I’m not strong enough. My spells aren’t strong enough! My lightning, Sparky— it barely had an effect. You saw, it was like I was nothing, nothing to him… I just… I can’t really see a scenario where I get out of this alive, Argis. Even if I do defeat him, in the end... What if it kills me? Gods, I was unconscious for half a week and all I did was move you a few feet with a telekinesis spell, much less defeat the fucking World-Eater.” Her voice quieted. “You heard Paarthurnax.” Her breath hitched. “Doom-driven.”

He shook his head, stubbornly, and her face twisted with something like grief. “You don’t have to be afraid, I promise that I won’t let anything happen to you—”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” she said, interrupting him. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m afraid of leaving you behind. Of how much it’ll hurt… for the both of us.”

He reached out, to brush her hair away from her face, but she flinched back, tears brimming again.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he said softly. “That’s… That’s what you’re afraid of?” He meant more than her destiny, more than her final battle, and he knew that she understood. “That you’re going to die? That’s why you don’t want to… You don’t want us to...”

“I don’t want to hurt you, when I die,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

He shut his eyes and reached around her, pulling her close so forcefully that she gasped. He pressed her tight against his chest, his hand splayed across the warmth of her back, then released her. She stayed curled tight against him, shaking. “You think it would hurt me any more? You’re wrong,” he said, firmly. “You’re wrong. Whatever you decide, about… about the two of us. I’ll die for you, either way. The only way I’d let anything happen to you is if I’m halfway to Sovngarde already.” He paused, swallowed. His throat hurt. “And you have to know by now that I… I’ll follow you anywhere.”

She was crying again now, wetting the skin on his neck and chest. “Bretons don’t go to Sovngarde, Argis.”

“Anywhere,” he repeated. “Anywhere you go, I go.”

Her only response to that was a broken sob.

She cried herself to sleep in his arms. He held her, feeling helpless, wanting to do something more to comfort her. But she was stuck on her destiny. Doom-driven.

Like he had before, he had the sense that he was missing something, like she was keeping a part of her fear, a part of her confession, just out of his reach.

After she fell asleep, he lay there, holding her and stroking her wild hair, staring for a long time into the dark.

***

In the morning, his bed was cold, his room empty. He wandered the halls but found only Arngeir, meditating in front of a small fire in the front room.

“Where’s Valerie?” he asked, his voice rough and echoing. He got the feeling he was interrupting something important, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Arngeir spoke without opening his eyes. “With Paarthurnax.”

“Will you take me to her?”

“...No.”

“I need to see her,” he said, stubbornly. “I don’t want her to be alone.”

Arngeir opened one eye, finally, glancing at him out of the corner of it. “She’s not alone. She’s with Paarthurnax.”

Argis growled then, throwing his hands up and turning on his heel to stop away, which he did harder than he should have. Before he could leave the room, a loud pounding on the door got his attention. He paused, then, when Arngeir made no move to open it, crossed the room to the door to pull it open, rolling his eyes the whole time.

It was a courier, wearing nothing but a hat and some well-worn farm clothes. He looked entirely unruffled for someone who’d climbed up 7,000 steps in the freezing snow to deliver a letter.

Or, rather, a stack of letters. Argis glanced at the bundle in the courier’s arms.

The courier tilted his head. “Argis the Bulwark?”

“That’s me…” said Argis, cautiously.

To his total surprise, the courier thrust the stack of letters into Argis’ midsection, causing him to let out an “oof.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” the courier said. “Got a few things I’m supposed to deliver. For your eyes only.” He paused. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“Been traveling,” Argis muttered, rifling through the stack of letters.

“Is there a… Valerie Greensmith with you, by any chance?”

Argis looked up. “Yes. Why?”

“Let’s see here…” He pulled another letter from inside his shirt, this one with a small coin purse attached to it. “I've got a letter for her, and some coins. Something about it being her… inheritance? Oh, and… Please tell her I’m sorry for her loss.”

Argis took the letter and the coin purse, blinking.

“Well!” the courier said. “Looks like that's it. Gotta go!” He gave Argis a cheery wave, then skipped down High Hrothgar’s steps, back out into the freezing snow.

Argis watched him until he rounded the corner out of sight, then, shaking his head, closed the heavy door against the cold.

By the time Valerie found him a few hours later, he’d gone through all of his letters, reading them several times to make sure he hadn’t missed any of the details. Some of the ones from Vorstag still didn’t make a lot of sense, but then again, he figured that what had happened didn’t make a lot of sense to Vorstag, either.

“Anything good?” Valerie said, settling herself into the chair across from him. “Can’t believe we actually get mail up here, those couriers go anywhere.”

Argis glanced at her. It seemed, again, like she wanted pretend that things were back to normal between them, like she hadn’t cried herself to sleep in his arms last night, hadn’t confessed that her deepest fear wasn’t death but leaving him behind, alone and heartbroken without her. That he hadn’t admitted that he would be destroyed by her death anyway, whether they were together or not.

She sat patiently, waiting for his answer.

“Vorstag saw a lady get killed in the marketplace and uncovered this whole conspiracy about a Forsworn leader being held in Cidnha Mine who’s in league with the Silver-Bloods. The guards are all corrupt and dozens of people are dead. Oh, and he was thrown in prison.”

“What?” she screeched. “What!? Who’s dead?”

“No one I know.” He passed the stack of Vorstag’s letters over. “See for yourself.”

She read through them quickly, her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, occasionally gasping or muttering little exclamations and curses. When she finished the last letter, she went through them again, even faster, then sat up and looked at him.

“What the _fuck_?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Beats me.” It bothered him less than it probably should have that the Markarth guards, guards he had trained, ate with and drank with and slept next to in the same cramped guardhouse, had been corrupted by Silver-Blood coin. They hadn’t really known him, after all—how could he be surprised that he didn’t know them, either?

“Gods.” She shook her head. “Well. At least we don’t have to break him out of prison.” She glanced at the table again, noticing the letter and coin purse. “What’s this?”

“Courier said it was for you. Inheritance.”

She opened it, frowning, and he waited, watching her face fall as she read the letter.

“Who is it?” he asked. He swallowed, wondering whose name she’d say.

“Shavee,” she whispered. “From Windhelm.” She emptied out the coin purse, the septims falling out onto the table heavily. A necklace fell out with the coins, the anvil on the amulet glinting in the light. She let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He was. His throat felt tight.

Valerie nodded. “A sickness in her lungs, apparently. I’m sure the cold in Windhelm didn’t help.” She pushed her fingers through the few septims on the table.  “This was probably every last coin she had.” She looked up at him, her eyes red and wet. “Please tell me we got some good news in one of those other letters, Argis.” She nodded towards the small stack of opened letters that were still under his hand. “I could really use it right now.”

He pushed the top one over to her. “My sister had a baby. A boy.”

“Oh,” Valerie said, and her whole face lit up with a smile. It was the first time he’d seen her this happy in weeks, it seemed like, and it made his heart feel a little lighter. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” She fastened Shavee’s necklace around her neck. It nestled heavily against her protective amulets, the enchanted jewels she wore to make her stronger, the necklaces she carried with her to return to people who needed her, who were waiting for her, counting on her.

He wondered how long it would be until she delivered all of them, until she had no more need for protection, for enchantments. Until she could relax, and rest, and stop being the Dragonborn, and just be Valerie.

He wasn’t sure if she ever could.

“We should visit them,” Valerie was saying. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it? Just for a few days. I’d like to meet your family.” She smiled at him, then glanced down at the letter from his mother, then to the note about Shavee, which was resting next to it. “And I could really use a vacation.”

He grinned, his spirits lifting. It would be nice. “Sounds good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

***

But first, they went to Whiterun.

They left the Elder Scroll with the Greybeards and caught up with the courier at the inn in Ivarstead. Argis scrawled a quick reply on the back of one of the pages from his mother’s most recent letter, telling her they were coming for a visit. On their way to Whiterun, Valerie revealed that Paarthurnax had told her their best course of action moving forward was to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach, and see what they could find out from it about how to defeat Alduin.

“Gods,” Argis muttered. It was raining, and his boots splashed in the mud as they walked down the mountain south of Whiterun. He remembered talking to Ri’saad about trapping a dragon in Dragonsreach, and here they were, about to do the same idiotic thing. “Think the Jarl will agree to it?”

It was hard to see Valerie’s shrug underneath her heavy cloak. She had her hood up, and he couldn’t see her face. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”

Argis didn’t reply.

Her darker, quieter moods, where she withdrew inside of herself, were becoming more frequent now, and it was all he could do to try to keep her talking. It was like pulling teeth, and eventually he gave up, and they walked the next few hours to Whiterun in silence, the only sound the soft pattering of the rain on their cloaks.

Something was odd about Whiterun, when they entered. Everyone seemed on edge, jittery, tense. All the friendliness of the first time they had entered the city was gone. The guards were whispering to each other in low tones, pacing in the light rain, casting long shadows on the path as they patrolled as the sun set. They nodded at Valerie, saying nothing.

When she pushed open the door to Breezehome, Lydia was waiting by the fire. She stood up, like she was expecting someone, but by the look on her face when they crossed the doorway, it was clear it wasn’t them.

“Lydia?” asked Valerie, frowning. She shook the rain off her cloak. “What’s wrong?”

Lydia tried to look impassive, but failed in less than a second, her face crumpling. She sank back into her chair, putting her face in her hands. “It’s Farkas,” she sobbed. “He went off somewhere, with his brother and Aela and Erik, and he didn’t tell me where and— Why would he do that? Where have they _gone_? I can just tell something is wrong, I’m so worried, he’s never left without saying goodbye before…”

Valerie hurried over to comfort her. “Did you speak with Kodlak? What did he say?”

“He’s dead!” Lydia wailed, and Valerie and Argis stared at each other, flabbergasted, as Valerie rubbed comforting circles on Lydia’s back while she cried.

A few hours later, after a lot more sobbing and some tea, Valerie came downstairs looking exhausted. “She’s finally asleep,” she said.

“How did Kodlak die?” Argis asked her.

She settled into the chair next to him, by the fire. “Some group of bandits broke in, apparently. He was killed. Skjor is dead, too. Not sure if you met him.”

Argis frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Everyone else ok?” He was worried about Lucia.

“Fine,” Valerie said. “But I have no idea where Erik would have run off to. To track the bandits down, maybe? He’s not usually so vengeful.” She rubbed at her face. “Something’s not adding up, but honestly, I’m too tired to try to figure it out.”

“Do you want to try to go after them?”

Valerie stared into the fire for a few seconds before she answered him. “I don’t think I can.”

He nodded. “All right.”

They both stared at the fire. Argis was tired too, from all the walking, along with a kind of weariness that seemed to have settled into his bones. He wondered when it had started. On the mountain, with Alduin? Or maybe even further back, in Blackreach?

“Tell me what your mother said about your new nephew, Argis,” Valerie said, interrupting his thoughts. “I didn’t even ask his name.”

“Uh,” he said, fumbling around in his pockets for the letter. “Fenorfar.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. “Well. That’s… that’s a choice.”

Argis laughed. “It’s certainly a name, all right. My guess is that my brother-in-law got to name this one. Maeri was my sister’s pick.”

She was smiling at him, looking tired but happy in the firelight, and he felt his spirit lift, a bit. “When was he born?”

“About…” he calculated. “Four months ago, based on what my mother wrote.”

“Wow. We were kind of all over the place, but couriers don’t usually take _that_ long.”  

He glanced at the letter again. “They only sent it a month ago.” He shrugged. “Guess they were busy.” He hadn’t been home in a long time, it was true, but still, he felt a little left out, that no one had thought to tell him until months had gone by.

Valerie’s voice was gentle. “Maybe he wasn’t well, Argis, and they were worried that…” She trailed off.  

He hadn’t thought of it that way. He knew that it was silly to feel bad about it, but… “I didn’t even know Alma was pregnant,” he admitted.

“Maybe she wanted to keep it quiet?” Valerie suggested. “When was the last time you were home, Argis?”

“Uh… When I was hurt. From the hagraven.”

“But… that was…” Valerie paused. “You said that was eight years ago!”

He shrugged again. “The Jarl doesn’t exactly give time off.”

“Well!” Valerie huffed. “That definitely settles it, we’re absolutely going to see your family.”

“You haven’t seen _your_ sister for eight years,” he pointed out.

“That’s different,” she countered. “We fought.”

“Are you still mad?”

She sagged in her chair. “No.”

He let the silence fill the room before he spoke again, his voice quiet. “Do you miss her?”

“Every day,” she said. “Every stupid day.” She sighed.

“What’s her name?” he asked. He couldn’t remember her ever saying it.

“Veronique.”

He repeated it, trying to pronounce it the way Valerie did, with a little trill on the ‘r’. He gave up, after a few tries.

She giggled at his attempts. “I used to call her Very, when I was little. I couldn’t say it either.”

He smiled at the thought of a little Valerie, struggling to say her big sister’s name. “I bet she misses you, too.”

“Nah.” Valerie frowned, folding her arms around herself, like she was cold. “She has her husband, probably has a bunch of kids to take care of by now. I’m sure she never even thinks of her mess of a little sister.”

He knew that that was what she had to tell herself, to make it easier, to make it hurt less, so he didn’t bother to correct her. “If you want to go…”

She shook her head. “No. No, there’s too much to do in Skyrim.” She unfolded her arms, sitting up straighter, determined once more. “I’ll talk to the Jarl tomorrow, and then after that we’ll go to see your family, and then we’ll worry about the dragon. And then—” She paused. “I need to stop in Morthal along the way to the Reach, Argis, to speak to someone there. I hope that’s all right.”

“Morthal?” he asked, confused.

She nodded. “Falion. He was my conjuration professor, for a while, at the college, but he left a little after I did.”

Argis remembered hearing his name spoken by Valerie and Marcurio, in quiet tones when they thought he hadn’t been listening. “Why?”

“I’m hoping he’ll be able to teach me some more spells to strengthen my conjuration, make my magic stronger.” She stared into the fire, not looking at him.

“Like what?” he asked.

She shrugged, then stood up and stretched. “Just mage stuff. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go to bed, Argis, I’m exhausted.”

He stood, too, and for a second, he thought she might reach up to kiss him goodnight. But she just gave him a little smile, then turned and climbed the stairs to her room.

He sat back down, staring into the flames until he stopped hearing her footsteps in the room above his head. Then he banked the fire and set up his bedroll in the alchemy room, his feet sticking out the doorway. He listened to the quiet noises of the house, the light rain against the walls, the wood creaking from the strong winds of the plains. If he listened hard enough, the wind sounded like a woman, crying softly.

When he slept, he dreamt he was in Breezehome, staring at the fire. It twisted and shifted, slipping into a flame atronach, who stared at him with accusing eyes before splitting in two. He backed away, up the stairs to Valerie’s room, but instead of Valerie in her bed there was Lucia, crying with her hands over her face. He tried to ask what was wrong, to tell her that she’d be all right, that it would all be ok, but Lucia turned into a girl with dark curly hair, shaking and sobbing, and he couldn’t see her face. Her sister was comforting her, but then her sister was his sister, Alma, who rubbed circles on her back and crooned, “Hush, hush, I miss them, too.”

He woke up in the morning to Lydia, kicking him in the calf so he’d get out of her way.

“Get up,” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen. “I need to get to the spare coffee. It’s right by your head. And you need to go see the Jarl. Valerie’s up already. If you don’t get there early enough someone else will be there complaining at him, and he’ll be in a bad mood no matter what you say, and he’ll never agree to this ridiculous plan to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he muttered. He sat up, and Lydia squeezed past him.

“Lydia,” he said. She turned, half done with untying one of the sacks that rested on a barrel. “It’ll be all right.” He meant it about the Jarl, but really he meant it about Farkas, and for himself, a little, too.

“How do you know?” she asked him, and when he couldn’t answer, she turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, this one, but there's a lot of important stuff in it :) 
> 
> I hope no one minds that I gave Vorstag the "No One Escapes Cidhna Mine" quest. I've known from the start that it would be his, and happen offscreen, because (like Argis and Valerie) I can make absolutely zero sense of it, lol.


	29. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for some vague allusions to non-con at the end of this chapter.*

Balgruuf said no.

Actually, he said, “Are you out of your fucking mind, girl?” and then “A fucking dragon? Here? Have you gone insane?”

Valerie lifted her chin. She had dressed up for this, in a dark red gown she’d pulled from her wardrobe at Breezehome. It had lace on the sleeves and at the hem, clearly not meant for doing anything useful in. She had pulled her hair back from her face with two braids, and lined her eyes with that dark stuff she used, that made them look darker, made her face look sharper and older.

She arched an eyebrow delicately, conveying in a glance an expression that said, ‘How dare you curse at me, I’m a lady.’ Argis pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter.

“With all due respect, my Jarl. I’ve done a great amount of things for Whiterun—protecting your western gates from a dragon the least of it.” Her gaze drifted, subtly, toward the side of the throne, where a young boy stood, lurking in the shadows on the curtained dais. “I hoped you’d be willing to help.”

The jarl followed her stare, and his shoulders sagged. “Of course. I owe you a great deal…” He trailed off, then rose on his throne again, his posture straight once more. Argis looked up, directly above the jarl’s head, at the great dragon skull, bleached white with time. “I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will. But I need your help first.”

***

“A peace council,” muttered Valerie, as she hurried down the steps of the palace. “A bloody peace council!”

“Are we going back to High Hrothgar?” Argis asked, following closely behind her as quickly as he could.

She shook her head. “There’s no way I’m going back up that mountain again so quickly, we just got off of it. I can’t bear another trip. I’ll write the Greybeards a letter and see what they think about hosting, maybe we can get a courier to take it. That one who delivered the letters to you seemed to make it fine, didn’t he? Maybe they like the exercise…”

They were passing Jorrvaskr now. Someone was on the steps, still trying to wash the blood off from the bandit attack, scrubbing with soap and water so that it pooled around their feet.

“Hello, Ria,” Valerie called. “Any word?”

Ria looked up from her scrubbing, shaking her head. “Not a thing. How’s Lydia holding up?”

“Not great,” Valerie said, frowning. She put her hand up in goodbye, and turned away.

They mentioned neither the Greybeards nor the missing Companions as they walked through the market. Valerie bought some vegetables for dinner, muttering about bean and mushroom stew.

When they ate, later, Lydia volunteered to go to High Hrothgar to deliver the letter to the Greybeards. Argis and Valerie both looked up at her in surprise.

“What?” Lydia said. “I’ve been there before, I know the way. And they’ve met me, too, so it’ll seem more official coming from me instead of a courier. Maybe that’ll make a difference in their decision.”

“Huh,” Valerie said, thinking.

“And it’ll give me something to do, too, rather than sitting around and waiting for stupid Farkas to show up,” Lydia muttered. She stabbed a mushroom with her fork.

Valerie glanced at Argis. “All right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll write the letter after dinner.”

Argis didn’t know what the letter said, but Valerie stayed up late writing it. He heard her blow out her candles and get ready for bed sometime after midnight. He stared at the gleaming vials and jars in the alchemy room, glinting in the moonlight, waiting until he heard her settle down in her bed, waiting for her to sleep so that he could, too.

Lydia left the next day after breakfast. Valerie hugged her goodbye. As she walked down Breezehome’s front stairs, the Dwarven sword strapped to her waist, Argis called after her. “Be careful! The steps to High Hrothgar can be slippery!”

It was a stupid warning to give, and Lydia scowled at him. But then she stopped, glanced at Valerie standing next to him and frowned. Then without saying anything, she gave him a quick, curt nod.

They watched her until she walked through the gate. Then Valerie sighed, and turned to Argis.

“Well?” she asked. “What shall we do while we wait?”

That morning they went to see Eorlund at the Skyforge. Argis and Valerie watched him work, Valerie uncharacteristically silent. Eorlund said little, hammering away at an enormous greatsword, but eventually he started to talk, in his brief, blunt way, about Argis’ father, and the things they had made together and the conversations they had had when Arvild came to Whiterun to learn at the Skyforge. Argis listened, the familiar clinking of the hammer and metal against the anvil giving way to a sense of nostalgia, of his childhood, of his father working at the forge while he and his sister played in the little field in front of their house.

Valerie had taken out her journal and was writing in it, stopping occasionally to glance over at him and smile. Her hair shone in the pale sunlight.

A few days passed, slowly but pleasurably, while they waited for Lydia to return. After spending the morning with Eorlund, in the afternoon they visited Ri’saad’s caravan outside the gates, and Ri’saad pressed package after package into their hands. More new dresses for Valerie, made from Ahkari’s careful measurements, and little jars of spices and oils and alchemy ingredients from Elsweyr and Hammerfell and Cyrodiil and even Morrowind, sealed carefully with corks and wax and labeled in a looping script that Argis couldn’t decipher. Valerie looked more than pleased, though, so he figured that she could.

Atabah gave him a huge paper bag that, when he opened it cautiously, he saw contained an enormous amount of dried fruit of all sorts. When he went to thank her, oddly touched, she grinned at him with sharp teeth.

“From Hammerfell,” she rasped. “No moon sugar. Eat, eat!”

He shared some of the bag with the rest of the caravan, and then, after a dinner of small game hens that the Khajiit roasted on a spit over the crackling fire, he picked out the rest of the cherries and shared them with Valerie, as they watched the moons rise over the plains.

Over the next few days they spent time in the market, in the general store and the alchemy shop, Valerie still trying to replace the things lost in her bag in Blackreach. More items came in the mail for them, including a new set of mage robes for Valerie—dark gray, with red stitching, and shimmering with enchantments, courtesy of Marcurio.

He also hung out at Jorrvaskr. Lucia had seemed shaken by the attack on Kodlak and the rest of the Companions, but determined to keep things as normal as possible, so they shot arrows together while Valerie watched and read on their porch. When Lucia went in to help Tilma with the laundry, he and Valerie trained on the attack dummies; he sliced away at it with the ebony sword while she aimed spell after spell at the dummy next to his. After her failure to defeat Alduin at the Throat of the World, he noticed, she seemed more serious than ever about her magic. All the books he’d seen her read since were spellbooks, and he often saw her muttering to herself as she read them, twisting her hands this way and that.

They spent nearly every minute together. Aside from her increased studiousness, her tendency to get lost in her spellbooks, she seemed more like herself, talkative and curious, than she had in weeks. He wondered why, but didn’t want to question it too closely, worried he’d ask something that would send her into one of her reflective moods again.

Eventually, Athis, the dark elf, came out of Jorrvaskr to see what all the noise was about. “Good thing Vilkas isn’t here,” he said, affably, as one of Valerie’s fireballs set the dummy’s head on fire.

Eorlund and his wife, Fralia, had them over for dinner one night, along with Olfina and Jon. Their house was large and lofty, with a cow grazing in a small pen outside. Valerie patted its nose as she passed it, and it lowed happily at her. During dinner, Valerie and Fralia kept up a light conversation; Fralia was interested in the jewelry that young girls were wearing in the other regions of Tamriel, and Valerie did her best to describe what she’d seen when she was traveling.

Eventually the talk turned to Jon and Olfina’s upcoming wedding. Eorlund, who until then had only been grunting noncommittally at his wife’s occasional comment about silversmithing, put his fork down and turned to Jon.

“Gonna sing something at the wedding?” he rumbled. “Read a poem?”

Jon, for his part, looked a little stunned at the question. “I… I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Are you a bard?” Valerie asked, kindly.

“I… dabble,” Jon replied, modestly.

Olfina waved his comment away. “He’s wonderful. Such a lovely voice. He wrote a song for me, last year, when we first started—” She glanced at her father, then paused. “Maybe after the war is over, he can go to the Bard’s College, in Solitude.”

Valerie glanced at Argis. After the war was over… He raised his eyebrows, thinking of the potential peace council.

“I was there last year,” she said. “They throw a great Burning of King Olaf festival. I’d love to hear what you can play, Jon, if you don’t mind.”

“All right,” he said. He smiled a little. “Maybe after dinner.”

After they said goodnight to Eorlund and Fralia, the four of them took a walk outside. They made their way to the Gildergreen, blooming with delicate pink leaves even now, at the start of winter. Jon and Olfina took a seat on one bench, Jon pulling out a small lute, decorated with a mother-of-pearl inlay in little flowers along the neck. Valerie and Argis sat next to them, Valerie shivering slightly in the cold. Argis, trying to be casual about it, put his arm around her. She leaned into him, and her shivering subsided, gradually.

Jon strummed his lute a few times. “I uh… I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Valerie, actually. I…” He glanced at Olfina, who nodded. “I’ve been writing a song about you. I hope… I hope you don’t mind.”

“Me? Why?”

Jon strummed his lute once more, then opened his mouth, and in a low, even voice, so clear it made the hair on Argis’ arms raise, started to sing about Skyrim’s heroic Dragonborn.

And as he sang about the hero with the heart of a warrior and the voice of a legend, the bringer of the end of all the evils that plagued Skyrim, Valerie leaned her head on Argis’ shoulder.

When he had finished, the last note ringing out into the cold night air, Valerie said, in a wavery voice, “That was lovely, Jon. Thank you.”

They walked back to Breezehome, after that, the streets empty except for an occasional guard, the market closed and quiet. Neither of them talked. Back at the house, he helped Valerie fill a small tin bath from the well outside, so she could bathe. They dragged it in front of the fire, but Valerie stuck a finger in the water anyway, and soon it was steaming. She pulled her hand out, her finger hissing in the air.

“Handy trick,” he murmured, and she gave him a small, tired smile.

He said goodnight and went into the alchemy room, closing the door to give her privacy. Although Lydia wasn’t home, he hadn’t even brought up sleeping in her room upstairs, worried it would remind him too much of the night he’d spent there—Gods, was it already more than a month ago?—when Valerie had drunkenly undressed in front of him, pale and beautiful in the moonlight.

As he tried to fall asleep, his feet pressed against the closed door, he could hear her singing to herself, quietly and a little off-key, as she bathed: “Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart…”

The next day, Valerie told him he could wait in Breezehome while she had lunch with Farengar, and talked about, as she put it, “mage stuff.” She had barely let the door close behind her before he’d shut himself in the alchemy room and snaked his hand down his pants, leaning his other hand on the door. It had been so long that he didn’t even allow himself time to feel guilty over his fantasies, which were dirty and rough: Valerie on her hands and knees, moaning into a pillow as he fucked her from behind; Valerie kneeling before him, her eyes closing as he slipped his cock into her mouth, inch by inch, her lips red, swollen and glistening; Valerie on her hands and knees again, turning her head back to look at him, moaning his name, begging him for more, her dark eyes flashing—

It was the last one that did it, and he came so hard his knees buckled. He barely remembered to catch his seed in his hand so that it didn’t spill against the door.

He cleaned himself up and laid back on his bedroll on the floor, his trousers still undone. After some time had passed, and he could breathe normally again, he figured he still had time for one more round. He went slower this time, his fantasy sweeter, gentler: Valerie bathing in the tin bath—miraculously larger than normal—in front of the fire at Breezehome, calling him in to join her. They kissed slowly in the water, her soft skin gliding against his. Then she straddled him, moving over him and sliding him inside of her smoothly, sprinkling his face with sweet, delicate kisses.

By the time Valerie—the real one, not the fantasy—came home from Dragonsreach, he was sitting in front of the fire, eating a cheese sandwich and reading a book on the dark elves of Morrowind.

“Good lunch?” he asked her.

“Eh,” she said. “Kinda boring. Did I miss anything?”

“Nah,” he said, turning the page. “Nothing exciting.”

***

Lydia returned before the week was through, opening the door late one afternoon and kicking snow off her boots. Argis and Valerie were at the kitchen table, peeling vegetables for dinner. Valerie stood up when she heard her come in, clutching a half-peeled carrot in one hand.

Lydia’s expression was hopeful, but when Valerie shook her head, she let out an exhausted sigh, then pulled a letter out of her pocket.

“The Greybeards said yes,” she said. “You’re meant to speak to General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak, and if they agree to the proposal, the Greybeards will set a date.”

“Fun wedding,” Argis joked, weakly.

Lydia rolled her eyes.

Valerie took the letter from her and read it by the fire, frowning, still holding the carrot. Then she nodded to herself. “All right. Argis, we’ll leave for Morthal in the morning. Then we’ll go to your family, then to Solitude. It’s a little bit of extra traveling, but…”

“Not a problem,” Argis said. He slipped the pieces of the potato he was chopping into the pot.

She put her hand on Lydia’s arm. “Let’s go upstairs, all right?”

Lydia nodded, looking miserable, and headed for the stairs.

“Argis,” Valerie said, pausing at the foot of the staircase.

“Hmm?”

“Do you mind…” She gestured to the pot.

He shook his head. “I’ll finish. Come down when you’re ready.”

She grinned. “Thanks.” Then she tossed the half peeled carrot at him, which he caught with one hand, and laughed.

The next morning dawned cold and cloudy. In the air was the sharp, coppery smell of imminent snow. As they made their way out of the city’s gates, they saw four armored figures, walking up the pathway to them.

“Is that…” Valerie murmured, squinting.

“Looks like ‘em,” Argis acknowledged.

“I’m going to murder them,” she muttered, but she sounded relieved.

The Companions stopped to greet them by the stables, but Valerie stormed right up to Farkas, poking him in his chest with one finger. “Lydia is going to _kill_ you,” she hissed.

“Good to see you too, Valerie,” he rumbled, looking down at her.

She looked past him, to Aela, Erik and Vilkas. “Where have you all been? Even the rest of the Companions had no idea where you’d gone! How could you leave them like that, after Jorrvaskr was attacked?”

Erik stepped forward. “We had to do something, for Kodlak. We couldn’t tell the others. But it was for the good of the Companions, trust me.” His voice was earnest. “Farkas, why don’t you go on ahead to Breezehome.”

Farkas nodded. “All right, Harbinger,” he said. He walked on toward the gates, Aela following. Argis could hear her teasing him about Lydia as they walked out of earshot, Farkas grinning the whole way.

Valerie was staring at Erik. “Did he call you… Erik, did he call you Harbinger?”

Erik nodded, blushing, staring at the ground. “Heh. It’s kind of a long story…”

But to everyone’s surprise, it was Vilkas who stepped up to tell it, laying a hand on Erik’s shoulder. He had a softer, calmer voice than his brother, and as Argis stared at him, he felt like there was something different about him, that some sharp, hard part of him was now missing. The person who had stared at Argis in Whiterun’s inn all those weeks ago, like an animal stalking its prey, making the hairs on Argis’ arms and neck stand on end… That person was gone, replaced by someone who was just a man, just a warrior, looking tired but happy, his palm clasping Erik’s shoulder.

“Erik had a personal task to do for Kodlak, at Ysgramor’s tomb, up north of Winterhold. We didn’t think we’d be gone long, but then he offered to do a favor, for myself, and my brother. It’s… hard to describe what happened, but it feels like… like waking up out of a dream.” There was an intense look in Vilkas’ eyes as he stared at Erik, who stared back, and smiled. Argis felt odd watching the two of them, like he was interrupting something strangely personal.

“He did us all a great service,” Vilkas continued, and then paused, looking at Valerie. “And you did as well, Thane Valerie. Thank you, for bringing Erik to the Companions. It’s something I will not soon forget.”

Valerie stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. “I… Just Valerie is fine.”

Vilkas nodded.

“Come on,” Erik said, his voice soft. “Let’s get back to the others.”

They said their goodbyes and watched as the two men turned and walked to the gates, their shoulders nearly touching, close enough to reach out and take the other’s hand.

After a few moments, Valerie shook her head. “Well,” she said to Argis, “took them long enough, right?”

“Mmm,” he acknowledged. He’d had no idea either one of them had feelings for the other, but, truthfully, he didn’t normally pick up on things like that as well as Valerie did. As the two men kept walking, he couldn’t help but feel a little sad and a little jealous, that Vilkas and Erik had managed to overcome their differences and were now on the way to… to becoming something, no matter how small that something was.

He followed Valerie west, and pulled his cloak tighter against him, to protect him from the chill.

***

It snowed as they made their way to Morthal, but stopped by the time they reached their destination, although the fog was so thick that it was hard to tell. The wet ground sucked at their boots as they walked, and small buzzing insects started to fly around as soon as the sun began to set.

“We shouldn’t go out in the dark around here,” Valerie told Argis. “I’ve seen chaurus out in the swamps, and there’s a vampire lair somewhere to the north. Erik and I took care of most of the vampires, but you never know if we missed anyone…”

“Great,” Argis muttered. In the distance, he could see a few lights glowing in the pale dark. The town looked small enough to be a mining settlement.

On their way to the inn, they passed an elderly woman in a brown dress, who spat on the ground in front of them after peering at Valerie’s face. “Surprised you’d show your face around here, after what you’ve done,” she sneered.

Argis stepped forward, frowning, but Valerie grabbed his arm and tugged him away before he could say anything. He felt a little confused, but mostly relieved that he wouldn’t have to threaten an old woman.

“What was that about?” he asked, later, when they were putting their things down in the room the innkeeper had shown them.

“I killed her friend, who was a vampire,” Valerie said, matter-of-factly. “I tried to explain that the vampire was attacking me, and I’d only fought back, but… She’d rather I’d died instead, I guess. The same vampire had managed to bewitch a woman to burn down another villager’s home, with his wife and daughter sleeping inside.”

“Gods,” Argis said. The priorities of some people…

“Yeah,” Valerie agreed. She rubbed her forehead with one hand, setting her bag down next to their bed. “It’s this place, it’s…” She shuddered. “Let’s not spend any more time here than we need to, all right? Morthal’s… not right. It does things to people.”

When they slept, they laid down back to back in the same double bed. Argis had pulled open his bedroll to sleep on the floor, but Valerie told him not to be silly, and tugged back the covers of the inn’s bed. They didn’t touch each other, but she smelled good, like flowers, even after all the walking they’d done. She fell asleep in minutes, her breathing turning slow and heavy.

He heard her whimpering in the middle of the night, and tried shaking her shoulder so she’d wake up from whatever nightmare she was having. She seemed embarrassed, and apologized, pushing her tears off her cheeks with one hand, the hair out of her face with the other.

“I was dreaming about the last time I was here,” she told him. “That house had just burned down a few days before, and I saw the ghost of the little girl who used to live there. She told me… that the other woman had wanted to turn her into a vampire too, to keep her forever, but… she couldn’t, because she was… she was all burned up.” Her breath hitched. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I… If I’d just gotten there a week earlier, maybe I could have…”

Argis pulled her close, stroking her hair. “You can’t help everyone.”

“I know,” Valerie said. She pressed her forehead against his chest. “I know.”

When they slept, they lay on their backs, just a foot between them in the darkness. Right before he fell asleep, his hand brushed against hers in the dark, but by the time he had gotten up the courage to take it, she had shifted away from him.  

***

Falion was a dick.

He was rude to the two of them the second he opened his door to Valerie’s knock, standoffish and silent until Valerie apologized for leaving Morthal without saying goodbye the last time she was here. When Argis mentioned that maybe she had a lot on her mind, thanks to the vampires and the dead _child_ , Falion sneered at him and told him to wait outside.

“No,” Valerie said, frowning. “Argis stays with me.” She put her hand on his arm, and the look Falion gave him made him want to throw a punch in his stupid mage face.

“Fine,” Falion said. “Though I doubt you’ll be able to follow along with our conversation.”

“Don’t need to,” Argis muttered, settling himself in a chair by the door. He adjusted his armor and weapons before he sat, making sure Falion saw the hilt of his ebony sword. “Not much for words, anyway.”

Falion and Valerie sat at a table near the fire. Valerie filled him in as much as she could without mentioning either Alduin or being the Dragonborn, saying that she needed to strengthen her conjuration, to become more powerful than she already was. She also mentioned that she’d expended so much magic recently that it had run out entirely—Argis shifted uncomfortably in his chair—and she needed to keep that from happening again.

Falion nodded. “The storm atronach isn’t strong enough?” he murmured, thinking.

Valerie shook her head. “No. I need something more.”

“You asked at the college?”

“He was no help at all.”

Falion smirked, standing up to walk over to the bookcase. “Of course he wasn’t. Gestor is a fool. What Aren was thinking making him the conjuration professor after I left—”

“Aren is dead,” Valerie broke in. “There’s a new archmage now, a friend of mine.”

“Dead?” Falion paused. “Good,” he said, and a chill ran up Argis’ spine. He pulled three books from his shelf, dropping them on the table in front of Valerie.

He held one up, and Argis could see an imprint on the cover, a symbol that reminded him, uneasily, of a doorway.

“Twin souls,” Falion pronounced, and opened it and handed it over. “Split your summoned daedra in two, or summon two daedra at once.”

Valerie took it from him. “Perfect,” she breathed. “This is perfect.”

Argis tuned them out as Falion explained the spell, Valerie asking questions as she leafed through the book. They spoke in low voices for about an hour, until Valerie stood, summoning Atty, who spun in a circle. She attempted some complicated hand motions, but Atty stood there, placidly.

Behind her, he could see Falion was staring at her in a possessive, territorial way that made Argis uncomfortable. He closed his hand around the hilt of the ebony sword.

Valerie banished the atronach, sighing with disappointment.

“You know how this works,” Falion said, as if reminding her. “It will come when you need it.”

The next spellbook he presented Valerie with was something called equilibrium. Valerie took the book from him, frowning and inspecting the cover. It was an alteration book, Argis saw.

“I’ve never even heard of this,” she said. She traced the tree symbol with her fingers. “Where’d you get it?”

“I have my ways,” Falion murmured. He was silent as Valerie read the first few pages.

She lifted her head up. “I don’t understand how this is possible.”

“More magic,” Falion told her. “A near endless supply, if you do it right.”

“But I could die trying,” Valerie protested. “Falion, I don’t know… Turning my own blood to magic? More power, but at the cost of my own health?”

“What?” Argis said. “What?” He stood up, the chair tumbling to the floor, and crossed the room to their table in two steps. “I don’t…” He reached his hand out, but Falion snatched the book away.

“This is not for you, housecarl,” he hissed. “Idiot Nord.”

“Falion!” Valerie cried. “Don’t be rude.”

“I don’t like it,” Argis told her, trying to ignore Falion’s laughter at him in the background. “Valerie, please, you can’t hurt yourself, I won’t—” He stopped himself, remembering the last time he had tried to tell her how to fight, and how that conversation went. He swallowed. “I don’t like it,” he repeated.

“I don’t like it either,” Valerie said quietly. “But… if it could help me…”

His heart sank.

“Argis,” she said. “Maybe it would be better if you… waited outside, for a bit.”

 _No,_ he thought. But instead, to his shame and intense discomfort, he nodded, his heart pounding, turning away from her to head for the door. By the time he reached it, Falion was there to shut him out.

“Goodbye, housecarl,” he said, and gave him a sneering grin. He watched Valerie through the closing door, turning the pages of the alteration book with a frown, until Falion closed it in his face with a thud of finality.

He sat alone on the dock outside Falion’s house for hours, not even moving for lunch. Guards and townspeople walked past him without a word. The only person who spoke to him was a small, dark-haired boy in a brown tunic, who stood in front of him and stared at him quietly until Argis grunted out a “Yeah?”

“I get lost sometimes,” the boy told him, somberly. “I don’t know where I go, but I’m not… I’m not here.”

“Uhhh,” Argis said. “O- okay…”

The boy stared for another moment, and then walked away.

“What the fuck is wrong with this place?” Argis muttered to himself, and resolved to never come back.

It was only mid-afternoon by the time Valerie was finished, but the fog had descended again, making everything seem darker and drearier. She looked surprised to see him waiting for her, and told him that she’d assumed he’d gone back to the inn.

“I wanted to wait here for you. I don’t like that mage,” Argis said to her, keeping his voice low as they passed some townspeople. “Why’s he such an asshole? I thought Marcurio said he liked you.”

“He’s jealous of you. Can’t you tell?” Valerie said, plainly, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He did like me. A little too much, honestly. It was pretty inappropriate, given that I was his student at the time. I don’t think Marcurio realized the extent of Falion’s... affections.”

“Knew I didn’t trust him,” he muttered. “Not Marcurio,” he clarified. “Falion.”

“Mmm,” Valerie agreed. “Me either.” She had her arms wrapped around the three books that Falion had pulled from his bookshelf. “But you trust me though, don’t you, Argis?”

They had reached the inn now, and Argis pulled open the door and held it for her as she entered. “Of course I do,” he said, but his mind flashed back to her paging through that terrible alteration book, frowning at it as the door shut in his face.

His stomach growled as they walked through the main room, which smelled like roasted meat and… He sniffed. Potatoes.

Valerie glanced at him. “You didn’t eat?”

He shook his head, and she sighed. “Oh, Argis,” she said, but her voice was fond, and the two of them sat down for a late lunch.

They spent the rest of the afternoon reading, Valerie taking up the small table in their room, her three books from Falion spread out in front of her. She paged through them over and over again, sometimes talking to herself quietly, sometimes twisting her hands this way and that. Argis sat in a chair against the wall or on the bed, making his way through a copy of Of Fjori and Holgeir, which had been left in their room. It was about a huntress and a warrior who overcame their differences and fell in love, only for their happiness to be shattered by danger, and fear, and the right things happening, but at the wrong times. At the end, mad with grief at the death of his beloved, the warrior killed himself, to be with her in the afterlife.

“Well, that was depressing,” Argis said, after he’d finished the last page. It was late, now; they had stopped to eat dinner and then gone back to their books. “And on that note…” He looked at Valerie, who was frowning, her mouth moving as she read something in one of the spellbooks. “I think I’ll go to sleep, Valerie.”

She looked up. “That’s fine,” she said, giving him a little smile. “I won’t be long. And we’ll leave in the morning, all right?”

He nodded and turned away from her, pulling off his armor and weapons and setting them next to the bed. He crawled in, still wearing his tunic and trousers.

“You can blow out the candles,” she told him. Her hand twisted, a little candlelight spell hovering over her head. “Goodnight, Argis.”

He did as she told him, the smoke from the candles rising into the air after he blew on them gently. He turned, pulling the covers up over himself. “Goodnight, Valerie.”

It wasn’t until later, when he was on the edge of sleep, that he realized he’d forgotten to ask what the third book was.

***

He woke up after what seemed like no time at all, startled by the sound of a soft noise. He didn’t move, and kept his eyes closed, wondering what he’d heard. He could tell that the space next to him was empty and cold; Valerie hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

He heard it again: the creak of a footfall on the floor.

“Argis?” Valerie whispered.

She was, as far as he could tell, standing somewhere by the door. But some instinct inside him told him to keep quiet, to be still, and he didn’t move or reply. He tried to keep his breathing even. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of the door opening and closing behind her as she left the room.

He sat up. Something felt strange, wrong; he had a niggling, panicky feeling in his throat. Frowning, he pulled his boots on, and got up to follow her.

There was no one in the inn. The large fire in the center had all but gone out, and the doors to the other rooms were shut, their occupants silent behind them. As quietly as he could, he made his way to the exit across the room.

Outside, he could see Valerie, her cloak wrapped around her, hurrying across the docks in the dark. His stomach twisted as she approached Falion’s door, but to his relief, she kept walking past, heading into the marshes behind his house and heading north. Without a second thought, he followed her.

There was no one else outside, and he kept a fair distance behind her. She had a little candlelight spell bobbing over her head, shining over her dark hair. It was easy enough to keep her in his sight, although once she stopped and turned, staring into the darkness next to him before forging on. He’d left too quickly to put on his armor, or take his weapons, so he was quieter than he usually was, but he felt vulnerable and exposed. He remembered her earlier warning about charuses in the swamps with a shudder.

She didn’t walk long, maybe 15 minutes, and she stopped when she reached a large stone circle in a clearing, bordered by standing stones on all sides. He stopped about a dozen feet away, right before the clearing started, stepping behind some trees for cover. She walked to the middle and stood, a little off center, and placed a book on the ground. From the pouch around her waist, she pulled out the little glass dagger she normally kept in her bag.

As he’d been following her, the panicked, anxious feeling inside of him had only grown. There was something wrong about this, about what was happening, and he nearly called out to her, to stop her from doing whatever it was that she was planning. But as he took a step forward, closer to the stone circle, he was stopped without warning, unable to move, paralyzed by an unknown force.

He watched, frozen in terror, his heart now pounding as Valerie sliced a cut on her left palm, then cast her ebonyflesh spell, dripping her blood on the stone ground. She was saying something, her other hand held up high, a purple light gathering and getting stronger as she spoke. But he couldn’t make out what she was saying, because there was a voice, hissing in his ear.

“Poor housecarl,” Falion crooned, his breath hot on Argis’ neck. “So it seems she doesn’t tell you everything, does she? I don’t suppose you have any idea of what’s going on, hmm?”

Argis tried, with all his might, to break out of the hold the mage had on him. But he couldn’t move, or speak, or even blink; his eyes were trapped straight ahead, forced to watch the scene unfold in front of him.

“You’re not good enough for her,” Falion murmured in his ear. “But you know that, don’t you? So whatever you’ve been thinking, stop it now. She belongs with her own kind, with a mage, someone with more intellect than a grunting ox.”

Valerie threw the purple light on the ground, in the center of the stone circle where her blood had dripped. Argis could see it spinning, swirling around a black vortex in the center.

“Her power is immeasurable,” Falion continued. “She’s easily surpassed my own. And although I must admit, I wonder where it came from... I’ll find out eventually. Right now, you see, she’s attempting to summon something only the most accomplished conjurors, with hundreds of years of practice, would even _begin_ to think about. Something so dangerous, second only to the Daedric Prince of destruction himself…”

 _No,_ Argis thought. _No, no…_

Something stepped through the vortex.

“A Dremora Lord,” Falion whispered.

The paralysis spell holding Argis broke, and he fell to his knees.

He knelt there, terrified, frozen with fear now instead of with magic, watching Valerie straighten herself as the Dremora Lord walked towards her, out of the spinning vortex. He was enormous, close to seven feet tall, his skin coal-black, marked with blood-red slashes. His armor was sharp and pointy, with scales, like a terrible metal dragon. Two curling horns crowned his head; a greatsword crossed his back.

Argis swallowed, shaking now, trying to figure out what to do. If he went to her, without his armor or his weapons, he’d surely be killed. And he’d only distract her; she’d try to protect him instead of defending herself, and he knew that she needed all her concentration to maintain a summons like this…

But if he just watched her… Could he let her stand there alone, defenseless, as a creature from nightmares walked towards her?

But...

 _You trust me though, don’t you?_ she had asked, earlier that afternoon. He had said that he did, and it was true then. It was true when he was hanging off the ledge in Blackreach, grasping onto her hands, certain he was about to fall to his death. It was true the first time she had said she was a mage, when she had looked at him with defiance and pride and he had fallen a little bit in love with her then, without realizing it.

And it was true now. He trusted her. She knew what she was doing. He remembered how she had cast her ebonyflesh spell before she had started to summon the creature.

She wasn’t defenseless, he knew. Even without him, she was still strong.

He stayed still.

The Dremora stopped. “You dare bring me here?” he asked Valerie. His voice made Argis’ skin crawl, half-scream, half-cry, like the call of the damned.

“I summoned you,” Valerie said. Her voice was clear, and as afraid as he was, he couldn’t help but be impressed by her bravery, by speaking without trembling. “I control you now.”

“You control nothing,” the Dremora hissed. “You are weak. Are you prepared for your death?”

She stood straighter still. “Daedra of Oblivion, Dremora Lord, servant of Prince Mehrunes Dagon! I have called you in my time of need—

The Dremora Lord stopped, and cocked his head, like he was listening. “No,” he said.

—and you have answered,” she continued, her voice still steady. “I have proven my magic to you—”

“No,” the Dremora Lord said again.

Argis felt his heart race faster as he saw Valerie falter in her speaking.

“I— I have— I have proven my strength—”

“You have done no such thing, little witch,” the Dremora Lord hissed. “You summon me on a standing stone? I am not your plaything. When next you call for me, do so in battle, with hate and destruction in your heart, and then we will see who controls whom!”

There was a loud, sharp, cracking noise, and the smell of smoke, and then the Dremora Lord was gone.

Valerie sagged, crumbling in on herself in relief. “Fuck.”

He stepped out from his hiding spot behind the trees, calling her name. But before he could get the word out, he felt it again: the paralysis spell. His skin hardened, but this time, instead of freezing where he stood, he fell over with an almighty crash.

“Argis!” he heard her shout, and then she was running over to him. “What… what are you doing!” She touched his skin. “What happened? Who…”

From where he had fallen, he could see nothing but dry grass and her hands, flitting around him nervously as she touched him on his shoulder, his side, his arm.

“He was trying to stop you,” came Falion’s smooth, oily voice, and Argis saw Valerie’s hands tighten into fists. “He would have ruined everything.”

“What have you done to him?” Her voice was high and angry.

“He was—”

“I don’t care!” she said. “What is this spell, Falion? Are you hurting him? Take if off him, now!”

“The all-powerful Valerie doesn’t know a paralysis spell when she sees one?”

“I don’t, obviously! Stop being such an asshole, Falion. End the spell!”

“I won’t,” he said.

Valerie made a frustrated noise. He wished he could move to tell her that he wasn’t in pain, that it would wear off in a minute or two, to just wait, and stay calm—

“You’ll leave him here, and come back with me, and you will stay,” Falion continued.

“What?” Valerie gasped, shocked. “I absolutely will not. What is wrong with you?” She grabbed Argis’ arm, tugging herself to his stone body like it was an anchor.

Something was sparkling around her hands, a haze of pale green. “You’ll leave him here, and come back with me, and you will stay,” Falion repeated.

To Argis’ horror, her grip on him slackened, and she said, in a soft, subdued voice: “I will stay. I will…” Her hands clenched again; the haze vanished. “No! Falion, how dare you! An illusion spell? This is what you do when you don’t get your way?”

The paralysis spell holding Argis dissolved then, his limbs collapsing to the ground from their unnatural position. He groaned.

“Are you all right?” Valerie whispered. Her hands were on him again like before, touching his arms, his face, skimming his hair.

He nodded, and she gave him a sharp nod in return before getting to her feet beside him, her face pinched and furious.

“How are you resisting my magic?” Falion cried.

“You don’t know her at all,” Argis ground out, rising to stand beside her. “I’ve seen her walk through dragonfire. Your spells are nothing to her.” He placed his hand on Valerie’s shoulder; almost immediately, her own hand came up to rest on top of his.

“Let’s go,” she murmured. To the mage, she said, “You’ve spent too long in this place, Falion. Too long with the dead, too long with the undead. I won’t be a thrall.”

“But I let you see my most powerful books!” Falion shrieked, and Valerie shook her head and started to walk away.

“I’m keeping the books,” she called back at him. “As payment for paralyzing my... my…” She paused. “I’m keeping the books.”

***

Back at the inn, later, Argis locked the door to their room behind them, then picked up a dresser and slid it in front of the door. He stared at the little blockade, frowning, then hauled over a bookshelf and added it to the pile.

Valerie was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed beneath her, watching him pile the furniture together. When he was done, she said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

His shoulders sagged, and he sank down to sit on the bed, dejected; she burst out laughing. It was the kind of laugh you laugh when things aren’t really that funny, but you’re filled with a nervous energy that has to go somewhere. The slightly deranged, hysterical laugh you laugh when you need to laugh, or else you’ll cry, and after a minute, he joined in as well.

“Fairly certain there’s a chamber pot under the bed somewhere,” he said, finally, when they’d calmed down.

“I was just kidding,” she said.

He let out a breath, falling backwards onto his back on the bed with a soft thump. “Good.”

She laid down too, on her back, next to him. They both stared up at the ceiling in silence for a while, until Argis said: “I wasn’t trying to stop you. Before, with the…” _Dremora Lord_ , his mind filled in, but he didn’t want to say it. “With that thing. I stayed back, until you were done.”

“I know,” she said, quietly. “And I’m sorry I left without you. I knew it would worry you. I just needed to see if I could do it. I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t like it,” he agreed. “I don’t like it, or that other spell, the one that would hurt you. I don’t like any of it. But I trust you.”

“I know,” she repeated. “I trust you, too.”

“That’s good,” he whispered. Still staring at the ceiling, he moved his hand, twisting it towards hers. To his surprise, her hand was there waiting for his, palm open to him. He took it, and squeezed gently.

She squeezed back.

***

In the middle of the night he woke up, blinking sleepily to see Valerie sitting up in bed, watching him as he slept.

“’S wrong?” he murmured, his voice thick.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” she whispered. She reached a hand out, pushing some hair back from his face. “Go back to sleep.”

His eyes closed, and, with the sensation of her small, soft hand stroking his hair, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always felt that Falion was creepy and had no business raising a child, so in this universe, Agni still lives happily with her parents and nothing bad has ever happened to them :) 
> 
> Did anyone see Erik/Vilkas coming? I thought they'd be cute together, ha. 
> 
> And PS we are getting so close, guys. So close! I promise it's happening soon ;)


	30. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive wait for this chapter, guys. It was the hardest one yet! Hope you like the end :D 
> 
> *Small trigger warning for a bit of fantasy racism!*

They left Morthal at dawn, following the River Hjaal south, then cutting through the Druadach Mountains near Karthwasten. In an odd coincidence, they found themselves at the path leading to Bruca’s Leap Redoubt right before the sun started to set, and Valerie had shrugged at him, smiling, and said, “Might as well.”

The camp was still abandoned, with no sign that anyone had been there since they’d left that morning, months ago, when he first saw Valerie absorb a dragon’s soul. The tent they’d slept in was still up; there were several holes burned into the side of the furs from the dragonfire, but Argis covered them with a small tarp he carried.

Valerie was examining the bones of the dragon’s skeleton while Argis rebuilt the fire. Those hadn’t been touched either, and they looked strange and otherworldly in the half-light, sharp and smooth, yellowing in the open air.

Valerie ran her hand across what would have been the dragon’s ribs, once. She looked contemplative.

“Hey, remember when you knocked me unconscious with a dragon shout?” he asked, conversationally, rearranging the wood.

Valerie laughed, loud and happy. “Yeah, well, remember when you picked me up and threw me over your shoulder?”

“Aye,” he said, smiling. “And you pulled rank on me. _‘Put me down!'_ ” he said, trying to mimic her accent and her high voice. “' _I’m your thane!’_ ”

“I don’t _sound_ like that!” she protested, laughing still.

He grinned at her. “Fire’s ready for you,” he said, and she flicked her hand at the wood.

They ate dried meat and the rest of Argis’ dried fruit in a companionable silence, relaxing in front of the fire.

“Argis?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m a little nervous about tomorrow.” She gave him a sideways glance. “What if your family doesn’t like me?”

He let out a burst of laughter. “Valerie, _everybody_ likes you.”

“Well,” she said, “Not everyone likes mages.”

Ah. Right. “I… I hadn’t thought about that.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

Argis frowned, thinking. _Been made housecarl to a new thane,_ he’d written his mother when they first left Markarth. He hadn’t had much time to write since then, and when he had, he didn’t think he’d mentioned Valerie at all. It was too hard to put down on paper everything—or anything—he felt about her. “Uh,” he said. “Nothing.”

She made an incredulous face. “What did you write when you told them we were coming to visit?”

“Er… I think I just wrote, ‘Coming to visit.’ And uh, my name.” He rubbed the back of his head, feeling foolish.

Her mouth fell open. “Argis!” To his relief, she started laughing. “What am I going to do with you! Oh, they probably think I’m an old man!”

He nodded, remembering the picture he had in his mind of his new thane, before she’d appeared in the entryway to Vlindrel Hall and thrown back her hood. “Probably.”

She moaned, covering her face with her hands.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. His mother was kind, his niece was sweet. His sister could be blunt and straightforward, but she was always fair. And Jofnir…

Well, fuck what Jofnir thought, anyway.

“I hope so,” she said, shaking her head a little.

They’ll love you, because I love you, he wanted to say.

“Maybe let’s not mention the mage thing right away,” he told her, instead.

Black Mountain was only a couple hours’ walk north of their camp. They headed off after breakfast, and Argis pointed it out as they got closer: the mountain pass that ran next to the river, a little tributary of the Karth, and then the little village nestled in the valley below it.

Valerie paused, smoothing out her dress. “Do I look all right?”

He glanced at her. She’d put her robes away, trading them for the simple blue dress Ahkari had made for her.

“Yeah,” he said, and then, without thinking, “You look pretty in that color.”

Just as he was regretting it, she looked up, her eyes wide. Then she smiled, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Argis,” she said. She moved towards him, taking his arm and pressing it close to her side. “You’re sweet.”

He said nothing, embarrassed at himself and the fact that his face was surely turning red, but he cleared his throat and they kept walking, arm in arm through the pass. He was glad for her, for her arm twined with his, a steady presence at his side, so he could think about the blush sweeping her cheeks instead of his mind picturing what it had the last time he had passed this way eight years ago, and eight years before that: bodies, and blood, and him the only survivor.

Valerie hummed as she walked, her necklaces jingling, and he concentrated on the sound of her voice.

And then it was over, and from there it was just a quick walk through a field to his childhood home. Argis could see that the little house looked much bigger than it had the last time he was here, that his mother had expanded it to add another entire floor. He could hear the clink of a hammer hitting metal in the distance, smell the smoke from—

Valerie stopped. “Someone’s staring at us,” she murmured. She dropped her arm from his.

He followed her gaze to see a girl sitting on a low, flat rock at the edge of the field. She had her hair in a long, thick braid, the color of honey. She was a little too far to see clearly, but she was holding what looked like a handful of mountain flower.

“Hello, Maeri!” he called to her, and then she was running through the field to him, whatever she held in her hand falling to the ground.

He picked her up when she reached him, swinging her into the air. She laughed, delighted, and he held her up once he stopped swinging her, propping her on his hip like she was much smaller.

“Uncle Ari,” she said, grinning at him. Her eyes were the same color as his sister’s, a warm brown, like amber, just a shade darker than her hair. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You look just like your ma used to,” he said. “How’d you know it was me? You haven’t seen me in ages.”

“Mama said you were coming to visit. And I remember you! You look just like _you_ used to,” she said, and he laughed. She prodded the arrow tattoo on his face with a little finger. “I don’t remember this, though. When’d you get it?”

“A while back,” he said, easily, not sure if the story of him and Vorstag, so drunk they could barely walk, stumbling into the alchemist’s shop and back out again with matching tattoos was something he should be sharing.

Maeri squirmed in his arms. “You have to put me down now,” she told him. “I’m _twelve_.”

He did, holding his hands up in apology, and she nodded seriously, then turned to Valerie, who’d been watching the whole exchange in silence, with a little smile on her face. Maeri was a few inches taller than Valerie, which was both hilarious and adorable.

“I’m Maeri,” his niece said. “What’s your name?”

“This is—” Argis broke in, “This is, uh, my… This is Valerie.”

Valerie held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maeri.”

The girl took it. “You say my name funny,” she told her, and then, “I’m sorry, that was rude, wasn’t it?”

Argis choked down a laugh, looking at Valerie over the top of his niece’s head.

“I’m from Daggerfall,” Valerie told her, looking like she was trying not to laugh herself. “In High Rock. So I say a lot of things funny, around here.”

“Huh,” Maeri said, clearly thinking about something. Then she turned and took off toward the village. “I’ll tell mama and nana you’re here!” she called over her shoulder, long braid streaming behind her as she ran.

“Well,” Argis said, “I guess it’s time to meet the rest of the family.” He pointed at the house. “Home’s right over there.”

***

He had barely climbed up the trio of stairs to the porch and crossed the threshold before his mother Gertrun was on him, squeezing him in a hug so tight that he had trouble taking a breath. She pulled away, then reached her hand up to his face, tracing at his scars.

“My boy,” Gertrun said. Her hand brushed his cheek. The gray in her hair was thicker, now, but her face was the same. “They don’t look as bad as they used to.”

“Hello, ma,” he said. He smiled down at her. “I’ve been putting stuff on ‘em.”

Then his sister Alma was there, too, peering up at him, poking at the tattoo on his unscarred cheek, just as his niece had done. “This great big honking arrow on your face doesn’t call much attention to them, though, does it?” She raised her eyebrows. “Nice and subtle.”

“That was the plan,” he rumbled. “You know me, very unobtrusive.” She looked the same as she always did, like an older version of herself—or an older version of Maeri, now, he guessed—but tired. He kissed her forehead, then reached out to stroke the little blonde head of the baby asleep in his sister’s arms. “Hello, trouble.”

At his touch, the baby blinked his eyes open, yawning.

“Oh, good. You woke him up, he’s yours now,” said Alma, passing him over.

Argis held the baby awkwardly in front of him, feeling uncomfortable. He’d never held a baby before, and it showed. The baby took one look at Argis’ face and burst into tears.

“Uhh,” he said. “What should I…”

His sister, mother and niece all started talking at once, reaching over to position the baby better, making cooing and shushing noises as he wailed.

“I can take him, if you want,” came Valerie’s soft voice. She was standing in the doorway, leaning one hand against the frame. They all turned to look at her, going silent at the interruption. The baby’s cries trailed off to a sniffle. “I love babies.”

“Oh,” said Maeri. “I forgot to say. Uncle Ari brought a girl.”

Argis caught his mother’s eye. She raised one eyebrow, a look that he remembered well, and he knew he’d have a lot of explaining to do, later.

Gertrun fed them lunch, rolls that had just come out of the fire and some thick, cold slices of roasted beef. Maeri ran down into the cellar and came back with a jar of pickled vegetables; his sister watched the way he ate his sandwich in two bites, then told his niece to bring up as many extra jars as she could carry.

Argis asked about the second floor, which Alma explained had just been finished last year. Once that was done they’d expanded the forge to make a larger shop, better capable of holding the goods that Jofnir was making and others they could trade for, when the caravans came through. To make the new shop, they’d knocked down the walls between their old room and his parents’, which used to be just off the main living area. The bedrooms were now upstairs, one for her and Jofnir, one for their mother, and one for Maeri.

“I’m going to share with the baby, when he’s old enough,” Maeri told Argis proudly, and he made impressed noises.

“We wouldn’t have been able to expand the house and the shop like this without your help, Argis,” his sister said, watching him carefully as she took a drink from her tankard. “It was the money you sent that made it possible.”

He shrugged, feeling awkward; his mother patted him on the shoulder. “Happy to help,” he said, and caught Valerie’s little smile before he dropped his eyes to his plate again. “Where is Jofnir, by the way?” he asked, although the sudden sound of a hammer on metal coming from behind the house answered his question for him.

“Don’t you start,” his sister said. “He’ll come in from the forge when he’s done for the day. And I won’t have you two fighting again.”

“I was just asking,” he muttered, feeling childish. “And anyway, the last time, he started it.”

Gertrun asked Valerie some polite questions about where she was from and what she thought about Skyrim. He knew that he’d be questioned in depth later, about who she was and why she was with him, but Valerie managed to answer everything she was asked without making mention that she was a thane of Markarth, or a mage, or—obviously—the Dragonborn. Maeri squirmed in her seat, clearly dying to ask her own questions, but when she opened her mouth she was interrupted by Alma, who gave her daughter a very similar look to what Gertrun had given him, at the sight of Valerie in the doorway. He laughed to himself a bit, at how similar they’d turned out to be.

Sure enough, after they’d finished eating, his mother asked Maeri to take the baby and show Valerie the rest of the village. His niece arranged her little brother in a kind of carrying pouch she wore on her front, then pulled an amused Valerie out the door after her, clearly excited about her important task.

When the door shut, Gertrun and Alma both turned to him.

“Well?” the two of them said at once.

“Well, what?” he said, stubbornly, crossing his arms.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing a girl,” Alma said.

“She’s very pretty,” his mother broke in. “All that hair! She’s a bit small, though, don’t you think?”

“You’ve never even written to us about a girl!” Alma added.

“You haven’t married, have you?” Gertrun questioned. “I hardly get a handful of letters from you in a year, but you would have told us if you’d married, surely!”

“No!” he exclaimed. “No, I didn’t… We’re not… We…” He put his head in his hands, and felt, rather than saw, the two of them exchanging glances. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?” asked his sister. “You like her, you get married. What could be so complicated?”

He spread the fingers of one hand, peering out at them through the space. “For one thing, she’s my thane.”

“Ach,” said Gertrun. “I was wondering where he went to. That’ll do it.” She stood up, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll get you a drink.”

“That’s not even the half of it,” he muttered.

“I guess that explains who bought you those weapons and that ebony armor.” His sister sat still at the table, frowning at him. “Why did I think your thane was an old man?”

Valerie and Maeri came back before his whiskey was even half finished. He wasn’t surprised—it was a small village, after all—and the baby seemed cranky when they returned.

“Fen’s getting hungry,” Maeri announced, lifting the baby out of the pouch she wore and passing him over to Alma. “He’s chewing at my shirt. You’re barking up the wrong tree, little man.”

“Fen?” asked Argis.

“Fen,” his sister repeated. “Fenorfar’s too much of a mouthful for such a little thing, no matter what your papa says. Isn’t it?” she cooed, undoing the ties of her shirt.

“Uh,” Argis stammered, looking away, at anything else. “Should I… I can… go?”

Alma snorted. “What’s wrong? Can’t stand the sight of a strong Nord woman feeding her baby?”

“You’re my _sister_ ,” Argis said, staring very hard at the ceiling.

Valerie tugged on his arm, laughing a little at the expression on his face. “Let’s go down to the inn, then, get our rooms set up.”

“Oh! Don’t go to the inn, you two. Stay here, there’s plenty of room!” said his mother. “No need to waste your money!”

Valerie frowned. “Are you sure? We don’t want to put you out. We’re fine at the inn, truly…”

Gertrun made a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense! You’ll stay here. Our home is yours.”

“You can have my room,” said Maeri, eagerly. “I’ll stay with nana. Come on, let’s go up, I’ll show you!” She dashed eagerly toward the stairs.

Argis swallowed the rest of the whiskey quickly, then hefted their bags and followed, Valerie trailing behind him. He could tell, without looking, that she was still smiling, ready to laugh at him again at any second.

***

Jofnir turned up right before dinner, just as everyone was sitting down and Argis’ mother was ladling carrot soup into everyone’s bowls. He and his mother and sister had peeled what seemed like a hundred carrots; although Valerie offered to help, Gertrun shooed her away and she stayed by the fire, playing jacks with Maeri and watching the baby as he rolled about the floor and batted at toys. She interjected into the conversation with his mother and his sister every so often, usually with a joke at his expense. Argis scowled, but secretly he liked how well she was settling in, and from his mother’s smiles and his sister’s loud laughter, it seemed like they liked her, too.

Now, Jofnir grunted, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table. “What’s for food? Smells good.”

Argis frowned. “Hello Jofnir, it’s nice to see you, too. Yes, I had a nice journey. Congratulations on the new baby, your daughter is as lovely as ever.” He handed his brother-in-law a spoon.

Jofnir took it, blinking.

“It’s carrot soup, dear,” added his mother.

Jofnir gave Argis a long, slow look before taking the spoon from him. “All right, Argis?”

Argis rolled his eyes.

It was an awkward, tense dinner. Alma and Gertrun tried to make light conversation, filling him in on local gossip, but even the presence of Jofnir was enough to put Argis on edge, and he gave short, terse responses. Everything about his brother-in-law—the noises he made while he ate, the way he held his spoon, his small, darting eyes—his whole presence annoyed him.

It took Jofnir several entire minutes to notice Valerie, despite Alma’s introduction as she sat down, but once he did he stared at her openly.

“Yes?” Valerie asked, finally. She smiled.

“Why’re you here?” he asked her, before bending to slurp his soup, the spoon clutched in his fist.

“She’s traveling with Uncle Ari, papa,” Maeri broke in. “Mama just said.”

Jofnir frowned. There was carrot soup dripping down his chin. “From where?”

Valerie shrugged. “We go all over. We’ve been to Dawnstar, Whiterun, the Rift, Windhelm, Winterhold… I think I met your uncle, actually, in Windhelm. Are you related to an Oengul—”

“Winterhold?” Jofnir interrupted her. “What were you doing in Winterhold?”

Valerie glanced at Argis.

“Not your business, Jofnir,” Argis said, a warning in his voice.

Valerie said nothing, waiting with an expectant look on her face for the next question, which came immediately.

“You’ve got a funny look to you. What are you, anyway? You one of them half-breed elves? That why you were up north? At the College? Only people up there are those damn elves and filthy mages—”

Thunder pounded in his ears. He barely heard the sharp, scolding voices of his mother and his sister before he was standing, rising so quickly the bench scraped loudly across the floor. “Don’t,” he said. His shoulders heaved. He pointed at his brother-in-law’s pinched, satisfied face. “Don’t even start, Jofnir.”

“I’ll ask whatever I want in my house.” Jofnir pushed his chair back, a challenging look in his eyes as he stared at Argis.

His face was so smug. Argis pulled his hand back to the side, clenching it into a fist. “It’s not _your_ house.” Everyone, even the baby, had gone silent. He unclenched his hand, trying to calm himself.

Jofnir raised his eyebrows. “I just spent a year building it.”  

“With money I _sent_ you!” Argis hissed, unable to stop the words from coming out.  

Jofnir smiled, slowly, showing teeth. “Is this what you want to do, Argis? Argue with me? You think you still have a say in this house? Let’s hear it, then. Go ahead. Let’s have a repeat of the last time you were here. Tell me again that I’ll never be the man your father was, and then leave, run away from your home, your family. That would make this… what? The third time you’ve left them?”

“Jofnir!” barked his sister, at the same time his niece cried out, “Papa, no!”

His mother started in, then, scolding the both of them, telling them to stop fighting like angry dogs, that there was room for the two of them, that Argis would always be welcome here. And then the baby started crying.

Argis clenched his teeth so hard his jaws ached. He was starting to remember why he never visited.

Fucking Jofnir, he thought. He rubbed his face, feeling exhausted, and caught Valerie’s eye across the table. As she looked at him, her worried expression turned thoughtful and sad.

“I’m a Breton,” Valerie said, her voice barely above a whisper, and everyone at the table quieted in order to hear her. “We were in Winterhold to see one of my friends, at the College. I’m a mage, you see.”

He barely heard a quick intake of breath from his sister as Valerie stood up, folding her napkin and placing it on the table. “Excuse us,” she said politely. “I think we need some air.”

She crossed the room to the door and opened it, pulling her cloak from the rack beside the door. Without a backward glance at his family, Argis left the house, following her down the steps and out onto the path.

A light snow was falling. They walked south, through the little field, until they came to the low, flat rock that Maeri had been sitting on when they’d arrived this morning. Valerie cleared a space for them on the rock, melting the snow with a little flame spell. The ground by their feet was scattered with dead mountain flowers.

They sat. The stone was warm and dry beneath them. Valerie twined her arm through his, then let her head rest near his shoulder. Argis stared in the direction of the mountain pass, but it was too dark to see anything besides the shadows on the rocks. He hadn’t been back to Black Mountain very often since he’d joined the Legion, it was true—but every time he returned he felt, a little bit more, like he no longer belonged here, like he had changed too much for it to ever be his home again.

Argis turned to look at Valerie. In the moonlight he could see flakes of snow shining bright on her hair, in her eyelashes. They hit her nose and the tops of her cheeks and glimmered, for a second, before melting.

The feelings he had for her were like a vice on his heart. Right now he thought she was the only one who could understand, the only one he had in this whole wide, lonely world.

“I’m sorry my brother-in-law’s a dick,” he said, instead.

“Mmm,” she agreed. “I’m sorry, too. I’m guessing that’s why you don’t really look forward to visiting.”

Argis swallowed. “We’ve never gotten along,” he admitted. “My sister’s too good for him. Don’t get me wrong, I love Maeri, and the baby’s great, but… I hate that Alma married him. I don’t know what she sees in him.” He took a deep breath. “And now… He resents me for the money I send, for not being here. And I… whenever I come home I always get so mad at the things he says, because… I guess because they’re true.”

He felt Valerie shaking her head, her hair brushing against his arm. “They’re not true. You didn’t run away. You _didn’t_. You left to make a living. You left to _help_ , Argis. And you have helped them.” She tilted her head back toward the village. “Look at their house!”

He sighed. “I guess.”

She rested her head on his shoulder again. “Trust me. I know a little bit about running away from your problems. About leaving your home and your family.” Her voice wavered. “It’s not the same.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he reached for her other hand and took it, enclosing it in both of his own. He rubbed it to warm it, to keep it safe from the falling snow.

They stayed outside until Valerie’s teeth began to chatter. When they went back to the house, the first floor was empty and the meal had been cleared away, aside from two bowls of soup. His mother had left a note next to the bowls. He showed it to Valerie: _Please stay._

She nodded, frowning a bit. They ate their soup in silence, then cleaned up and went upstairs. Once in Maeri’s room, Argis kicked his boots off, pulling his tunic over his head and slipping into the little wooden bed, then turning away so Valerie could change. He was too small for the bedframe, and had to pull up his feet in order to fit.

He listened as she blew out their candle, then went through her little bedtime ritual with her bottles in the dark. He’d closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of flowers as he heard her pulling the covers up on her bed, when there was a quiet knock at the door.

Argis sat up. “I’ve got it.”

He opened the door to find Maeri, her hair loose around her face, wearing a long white nightgown and holding a little candle stub balanced on a chipped dish. It spat out a weak light into the open hallway.

“I’m sorry, is… I just… is Valerie…”

He pulled the door open.

Valerie sat up in her bed. “Maeri? What is it?”

His niece blinked, her eyes wide in the dim light. “Are you... Are you really a mage?”

In response, Valerie twisted her hand and the glow of her candlelight spell filled the room. Maeri gave a small gasp. “I really am,” Valerie told her.

Argis could see the reflection of the candlelight spell, shining back in his niece's eyes.

“I didn’t think there’d be such pretty colors,” she breathed, and Argis couldn’t help but smile.

***

He didn’t expect much in the way of long discussions or talks the next morning, with his mother and his sister. Neither of them, like him, had ever been much for words. But when he and Valerie sat down at the kitchen table, Gertrun slid two plates loaded with fried eggs, bacon, toasted bread, and stewed tomatoes and mushrooms in front of each of them. Then she touched Argis on the head and let her hand linger on Valerie’s shoulder.

“You’re both welcome to stay as long as you like,” she said, and he knew that she wasn’t mad.

“We’d love to say,” Valerie told her. “Thank you.”

Argis, already on his second piece of bacon, managed to nod. “Thanks, ma,” he muttered, his mouth full.

Valerie ate an egg and a piece of bread, and when his mother went outside, scraped her leftover food onto Argis’ plate.

“Have I told you how much I love traveling with you?” he asked her. He shoved some more toast in his face.  

She grinned at him. “Once or twice.”

When they spoke to his sister, she was, as usual, a little more blunt than his mother.

“You’re really a mage, then?” she asked, almost immediately after coming down the stairs. She switched baby Fen from one arm to the next.

Valerie nodded. “Yes.”

“She’s not— she doesn’t—” Argis broke in, trying to explain how different Valerie was than how he’d thought she was going to be, how her magic was both a huge part of her and something entirely separate from her at the same time. How she’d changed him and made him better, how she was smart and talented and _good_ , and worlds away from the briarheart with the lightning cloak that his sister had seen from the kitchen window all those years ago. That briarheart had used his magic to tear his family apart, and here was Valerie, using hers to put the world back together, piece by piece.

But his sister just glanced at him briefly. “I apologize for my husband,” she said to Valerie, jiggling baby Fen. “As I’m sure Argis has told you, sometimes he’s an asshole.”

“It happens.” Valerie said, and reached her hands out. “Let me hold the baby and we’ll call it forgotten.”

Alma laughed, and with it, the tension in the kitchen dissipated a little, and Argis knew that they’d be all right. “Gladly. Maybe I can have some breakfast while it’s hot, for once.” She passed the wriggling baby over and crossed the room to the pots by the fire, spooning some mushrooms and tomatoes onto a plate.

Argis finished the rest of his and Valerie’s breakfasts, chewing slowly as he watched her walk around the room with his nephew, talking quietly to him in her soft, sweet voice. She paused by the window, pointing outside. At the mirror by the door, she made silly faces, and Fen laughed a tinkling laugh at their reflections and batted at her hair.

He could feel his sister’s eyes on him, watching him as he watched Valerie, but he said nothing. In the background, Jofnir’s hammer clinked steadily from the forge at the back of the house.

When he’d eaten the last of the food, he turned on the bench to face them, and Valerie made her way over.

“Do you want to hold him?” she asked, shifting Fen around in her arms.

He held his arms out, and Valerie placed the baby in them, helping to steady his hands so that he had a more secure hold. Even though he’d never held a baby before, he found that he instinctively jiggled him a bit, like his sister and Valerie had earlier. His nephew’s big blue eyes searched his face, blinking slowly as he studied Argis. Argis’ father’s eyes had been the same color, a clear, pale blue, like the sky in the morning, after it snowed.

Argis smiled, and the baby reached up and tugged at one of his braids, then gave him a wide, gummy smile back.

He touched his nephew’s little hand, where it pulled on his hair. He felt strangely overwhelmed, in a way he couldn’t describe, looking down at this tiny person who hadn’t known death or loss or pain, whose only experience with life so far had been nothing but love and kindness and protection. He wanted nothing more than for him to have that, forever.

He glanced over at Valerie, who was staring at him oddly, her eyes shining and her mouth twisting a little, like she wanted to kiss him, or cry, or maybe both.

He looked back down at Fen, studying him again, at his father’s blue eyes looking back at him from a brand new face.

We’re going to save the world for you, he thought, and then, as if in response, the baby frowned and vomited hot, sour milk all over his chest and shoulder.

He blinked, stunned, and heard his sister and Valerie gasp, and as Alma ran over to take the baby from him, she and Valerie both began to giggle, and then howl with laughter, and eventually, when the shock wore off, he joined in.

***

It was a good day.

After he cleaned himself up, he took a walk around the village with Valerie. The villagers had heard that he’d come back, and everyone came out of their houses and their shops to greet him as they passed, to shake his hand enthusiastically and, in some cases, hug him for much longer than he thought necessary. They’d done this before, the last time he’d been home, and then it had made him uncomfortable, and a little ashamed. So many people had died when the Forsworn had come that day, and he’d felt terribly guilty that he’d been the only one who had fought them and lived, the one who’d seen their husbands and wives and children fighting, outmatched, gasping their last breaths and bleeding out on the ground by his feet. He’d always thought that if he’d been better, that day—if he’d have been bigger, or stronger, or faster—he could have saved them, too.

But by some small miracle, they didn’t see it that way, and he knew now what he couldn’t accept eight years ago—that there was only gratitude in their faces, not imagined accusations or unspoken blame.

The difference, of course, between now and then... was Valerie. She’d sat with him at the top of the Throat of the World and listened to his story, lightening him of the burden he’d always carried. Meeting her had set him on the path he followed now, toward reaching the best version of himself, one that he’d never dreamed he could have achieved. He’d been a skinny, awkward kid, the blacksmith’s son who couldn’t even forge a dagger. And now…

Now, they were going to save the world.

Valerie followed him from house to house, from enthusiastic villager to enthusiastic villager, watching him with a shining pride in her eyes that made her look, to him, even more impossibly beautiful.  

They’d told Gertrun that as much as they’d love to stay longer, they should be heading off to Solitude in the morning, and she went all out for their last dinner. There was venison, with mashed potatoes and sprouts and carrots, and plenty of wine. Jofnir was subdued, no doubt thanks to Alma, who must have scolded him earlier, and he said nothing of importance during the dinner. That was fine with Argis, and he ate until he couldn’t move. There were no mentions of Valerie being a mage, which was a bit odd—he’d been expecting questions, from Maeri, at least, but she was quieter than he’d thought she’d be. Instead, he and Valerie talked about Whiterun, Eorlund Gray-Mane and the Companions, and his mother smiled, to hear of the old blacksmith still doing well. Alma asked about Daggerfall, and Valerie described the city, the jumble of buildings and twisted alleyways, the big stone castle, the deep moat that surrounded it, and the high walls that protected it all. Outside the city, she said, the landscape was beautiful, a patchwork of shades of green covering rolling hills, some of them dotted with the crumbling remains of ancient castles, relics of long-forgotten lords and kingdoms.

“Will you ever go back home, do you think?” asked his mother, and Valerie smiled, a little sad, and said she didn’t know.

“Yes,” he said, surprising himself and the rest of the table with the earnestness in his voice. “Yes, we’ll go there, one day.”

The way she looked at him, then… Even if he hadn’t overheard her talking to Marcurio on the roof of the College of Winterhold, even if she hadn’t kissed him and confessed her feelings after Blackreach… Her expression was so clear. Her love for him shone from her face like the sun.

The sky was darkening as they cleaned up dinner, and Maeri asked, a little shyly, if she could talk to Valerie outside.

“Of course,” Valerie said, sounding surprised. “If it’s all right with your mother…”

Alma shooed the two of them out the door, and Argis followed.

Maeri led Valerie to the low rock, near the pass out of the village, where she’d been sitting when they’d first arrived and where he and Valerie had talked last night. She turned to them, wringing her hands and tugging on her braid, clearly trying to find the words to say something she felt was important. Finally, gathering her courage, she managed, staring oddly, at Argis, “Will you promise you won’t be mad?”

“I…” he started. “Why would I be _mad_? Maeri, what is it?”

And Valerie, her voice kind, touched Maeri’s hand and said, “Maybe it would be easier if you showed us?”

His niece nodded, taking a step back, and bent to pick up a dead flower from the ground. She held it out to them, her palm open, and Argis frowned, about to ask what she was doing when he heard a soft gasp from Valerie.

In Maeri’s hand, the withered flower twisted, glowing faintly, the stem straightening, the leaves lifting, the dried blue petals unfurling, their color deepening, and in seconds, the dead flower was alive again, new and _restored_ —

“Holy shit,” said Argis, his disbelief turning to wonder. He let out a delighted laugh. “Maeri, you’re a _mage_.”

His niece nodded, once, and then immediately broke into sobs of what seemed like, to Argis, _relief_ , and Valerie pulled her into a hug, softly soothing her as the flower fell to the ground, withering again.

They sat outside on the low, flat rock, surrounded by dead flowers, well into the evening. Valerie talked to her in a low, reassuring voice for what must have been hours, until Masser rose in the sky, full and heavy and bright. She talked about restoration magic, what it did, what it meant to have magic inside of you and how to keep it controlled. She was good at it, at explaining things, and he watched with pride as Maeri listened, nodding seriously every once in a while.

She talked about the spell Maeri had been using without knowing, and had her practice on another flower, then a larger one, then several at once. Once she’d done that, Valerie took her fingernail and drew a line down the inside of her left arm, hard enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. She held Maeri’s hand over the scratch, keeping it steady while her hand glowed with white light. When she moved Maeri’s hand away, the scratch had vanished completely.

“How long have you been doing this spell?” Valerie asked her, sounding pleased. “You’re really doing well, Maeri!”

“I… thank you,” she said. “Maybe… about a year? I haven’t showed anyone. Or told anybody! It scared me, at first, but… It feels right, somehow. I just don’t understand where it came from.” Her eyes flicked from Argis to Valerie, then back down the flowers scattered on the ground. “So I kept it a secret. I think Papa will be… He’ll be really mad. Nords aren’t… We aren’t mages.”

“We are,” Argis broke in. “I’ve met some. And I… I used a staff, once, with a lightning spell.” Maeri’s eyes widened. “It’s a long story. But, listen… You’re too young to go to the College, yet. We have some things to do, first, but eventually, Valerie and I... we’re thinking of starting a school.” He glanced at Valerie, who was staring at him, looking stunned. “For young mages in Skyrim, who don’t have anyone to teach them, and aren’t old enough to go to the College. You can be one of the students. We’ll find others, and we’ll get other mages in, too, to teach the different schools of magic.” He realized he was babbling. “We have to build it, first, though.” He took a breath. “It’s going to be in Falkreath.”

He chanced another look at Valerie, and she was making the same face she’d made at him earlier, when he’d been holding his nephew, like she didn’t know whether to kiss him, or cry.

“I’ll talk to your parents, tomorrow, before we go,” Argis added. “It’ll be all right. Everything will work out, you’ll see.” He wasn’t looking forward to speaking to Jofnir about the fact that his daughter was a mage, but he thought, somehow, that his sister might not take very much to come around.

Maeri seemed cheered by this, and hugged him, then Valerie too, in thanks, and dashed back to the house, her braid flying behind her, shining in the moonlight.

The two of them walked back slowly, Valerie still silent. She twined her arm in his. He got the feeling that she wanted to say something, but he was content to wait for it. He glanced down at her; in the brightness of the moon, the expression on her face was soft but determined, and he felt his heart lifting, just a little bit, in hope.

She stopped him on the porch. She had gone up ahead of him; he was only on the first step, and when she turned and touched his chest, he could look directly into her eyes.

“Argis,” she said. The house behind her was dark, the village quiet. The only light came from the moon; it lit up her face, making her eyes shine. He waited, letting the warmth of her small hand linger, right over his heart. “Will you be upset with me, if I tell you I’ve changed my mind?”

He swallowed. His heart started to beat faster. He wondered if she could feel it, under her palm. “About?”

She took a deep breath. She glanced down, at her feet, and then back up at him, determined. “Are you going to make me say it?”

He nodded, slowly, a smile breaking over his face so widely that it almost hurt. “Course I am.”

She was trying to look exasperated, he could tell, but her heart wasn’t in it, because the way she smiled and the way her eyes watched his face could only mean one thing, and he let her get just enough words out—

“I love you, Argis, and I want—”

—before he’d taken her face in his hands and kissed her.

She made a little surprised noise, stiffening for just a second before she twisted her fingers in his shirt and tugged him closer. He could feel her mouth smiling against his, and he let one of his hands leave her face to rest on the small of her back, pulling her closer still.

When she had kissed him before, after Blackreach, he had been more than stunned, and the two of them had been desperate, nearly out of their minds with relief that they were alive. Now, though—now what he felt was a sense of how _right_ this was, of how perfect she felt in his arms, just as he belonged in hers. And as he pressed his mouth to hers again she sighed, light and sweet and happy, her body melting into his as he held her, and he thought that this was the only thing he’d ever want again, that she was the only home he’d ever need.

He pulled back so they could catch their breath, but kept her face cradled close to his, their foreheads touching. He brushed his thumb over her cheek.

“Guess you’re not upset,” she murmured. One hand stroked his shoulder.

“No,” he said. He pressed his face closer, rubbing his nose against hers. “I’m not upset. It’s just… Before… This was the part where you told me that you can’t.”

He felt her body tense at that, and she pulled away.

_Idiot,_ he thought, cursing himself. _Idiot, idiot, why’d you have to go and fuck this up—_

But she was looking at him with the expression that he loved, the determined one, the one that made him think she could do anything, that he’d follow her anywhere. “I won’t,” she said.

She was still close enough to touch, and he did, his hand reaching out to stroke her face, her features softening as he traced them. “You won’t?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek to his hand. “I’m sorry I said that. I was afraid. I’ve never… Argis, I’ve never felt like this before. You always make me feel so brave, like I can do anything, but my feelings for you… They scared me. They still do. And I don’t want either of us to get hurt, but… I love you so much, and I… I won’t take it back. I can’t.” She opened her eyes, and they shined at him. She grinned, a quick, bright smile in the darkness. “But... why don’t you kiss me again, just so I’m sure?”

And laughing, he did, pulling her to him. “I will,” he said, before his mouth touched hers, “again, and again, and again…”

She tasted like wine. Both of her hands were clutching at the front of his shirt, now, and this close, she smelled even more like flowers than usual, the scented curls of her hair spilling around her face, brushing against his fingers. In his arms she felt small, soft and delicate, and as she yielded to him, opening her mouth with a sigh, he knew, unequivocally, that she held all of his heart. That every part of him needed her, belonged to her, and had done, ever since he had caught her wrist in his hand on the stairs to Understone Keep. Ever since he had first lost himself in her dark eyes.

He pulled back from her lips and she whimpered, then made a delicious noise when he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, sliding back to her neck. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, face lifted up to the moonlight—

A shadow crossed the moon, darkness flickering over her face, and Argis looked up and gasped.

“No,” Argis said. His voice came out strangled. “Not here, not here, please—”

“Argis, what—”

“Dragon,” he said, and he watched the shadow soar through the sky, blotting out the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how'd I do?


	31. Restoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for a brief, non-graphic mention of miscarriage and stillbirth.*

“Dragon,” he gasped. “There’s a—”

Valerie straightened up immediately, hands already twisting in the air, glowing with her ebonyflesh spell. “Go get your armor and your weapons—and tell everyone to stay inside! I’ll lure it away from the village!” He could see the dragon landing heavily on the rocks by the pass. It was huge, larger than any he’d seen before except Alduin, its scales a deep bronze color, and it spat a column of flame into the air, rocking its head from side to side as it roared. In the back of his mind, he registered people in the houses behind him, starting to scream. “Argis, go!”

His feet weren’t working. “The pass,” he ground out. “He’s there, he’s right where…” 

A look of surprised understanding crossed her face. “I won’t let anything happen to them,” she said, her eyes narrowing, her voice fierce. She pulled his face to hers, kissed him quickly on the mouth and was down the steps before he registered what was happening. She took off toward the dragon, the blue glow of her dragonskin power swirling, leaving sparks of lightning in her wake, and he heard her use the shout that made her run faster, flying through the air: _“WULD!”_

He turned and pushed his way into the darkened house, taking the stairs two at a time up to Maeri’s room, where he’d left his armor and his weapons. He’d taken them off when they’d first gotten here, and he cursed at his own stupidity, knowing that each second he took to buckle his gear on was a second that Valerie was alone, without his protection. By the time he made his way back down the stairs again, swinging Spellbreaker onto his back, his family was gathered in the kitchen, huddled close together, Maeri in the middle. He could tell just by looking at their faces that they’d already seen the dragon.

“Stay inside, away from the windows,” he ordered, as he made his way to the door. The baby was crying, clutched tightly to his sister’s chest, and he pushed down the panic in his throat, trying to look brave in the face of their terror. “We’re going to lure it away from the village and bring it down.” He looked at Jofnir. “Don’t let anyone through past the house, even if they want to help.” To his surprise, Jofnir nodded immediately, not even bothering to argue.

“How—” his mother gasped. “Argis, it’s a _dragon_ , how—” She lifted her arm up, as if to try and pull him away from the door.

“We’ve done this before,” he said. He swallowed. “She’s the Dragonborn.”

His sister moaned, closing her eyes. “Oh my _gods_ —”

He wrenched the front door open, looking back one last time. Maeri had tears in her eyes; her mouth trembled.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Stay safe,” he said, and then he was gone.

He pulled the Stalhrim bow from his back as he ran toward the pass, notching an arrow when he got closer. Valerie had succeeded in getting the dragon away from the village; he could see lightning flashing on the other side of the pass, the dragon circling and diving down through the sky towards her. He heard her shout again, the one meant to pull a dragon down from the sky, but her aim was off and she missed, the blue light sparking up, useless, toward the stars, the dragon’s roar like laughter. He heard her scream in frustration.

He lowered his head and ran through the pass to help her.

He emerged on the other side just in time to see Sparky, crumbling to dust in a jet of flame. He let an arrow fly and it hit the dragon in the neck, and it shrieked, twisting in anger. It seemed to stagger a little, in the air, and Argis pulled another arrow from its quiver.

“Argis!” Valerie shouted. “I can’t—” She broke off, shooting a blast of lightning with both hands as the dragon dove for her again. She shouted again— _“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”_ —and missed as the dragon turned mid-air, heading back toward the village.

“No!” she howled. “Stay still, you fucking great big—”

He loosed his next arrow, aiming for the join of the dragon’s wing, the web of thin flesh that connected it there, and exhaled a short breath of relief when the arrow hit its target.

The dragon roared and hovered, awkward and cumbersome in the sky, trying to get its bearings again.

“Now,” he called to Valerie. “Get him, now, now!”

_“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”_ she shouted again, and connected this time, the blue light wrapping around the dragon’s neck and tugging it down to the ground. It crashed heavily in the rocks by the river, trying to lift off again, and shot a huge blast of fire at them when it realized it was trapped.

Purple light glowed in the corner of his eye and then Sparky was back, rushing toward the dragon, dodging jets of fire.

Three more arrows flew from his bow. He aimed at the dragon’s head but only one shot hit its mark, sinking into its neck as it reared and shook. He moved closer, shooting it in the side and, when it moved, the pale, white skin of its belly. Valerie and Sparky hit it with lightning, and when the dragon turned to snap at the atronach, Argis switched the bow for his sword and shield and dashed forward. If he could get close enough while it was distracted, he could get to its neck and, like he had done in Winterhold, climb up to slide his sword into the softer flesh behind its skull, killing it instantly.

But this dragon wasn’t like the dragon in Winterhold. It was bigger, quicker, and smarter, and he knew that he’d fucked up when he heard Valerie scream. He saw the dragon’s eyes, yellow and dilated in anger, and then the next thing he knew was heat, and smoke, and the sharp bite of teeth as the dragon picked him up in its jaws.

He heard the crunch of metal, and something popped in his right shoulder as the dragon shook him in its mouth. Then it flung him—

_He just picked one of them up in his mouth and… shook her, like… a cat with a mouse. Like she was nothing,_ Valerie had said, about the vision she’d had, of Alduin and the ancient warriors. _And then she was dead._

—and he was sailing through the air, his body tumbling like a broken toy, and he hit the ground with a crash of armor and bones. He blinked once, and saw, rather than heard, Valerie screaming, one hand reached out to him. He blinked again, and she was shouting at the dragon now, both of them breathing fire, and she brought her hands together, twisted and _pulled_ , and where Sparky had been standing there were now two storm atronachs, shivering with magic and lightning.

He blinked once more, and the world went dark.

When he opened his eyes everything was still, with the strange, heavy quiet that came after Valerie had absorbed a dragon soul. She was stumbling over to him from the other side of the dragon’s body, holding her skirts up, tripping on her own feet to get to him. He could hear again; she was crying.

She called his name.

_I’m all right,_ he tried to say, but his mouth was full of something. He was choking on it, and he knew from the hot, coppery taste of it that he was swallowing his own blood. He tried to tilt himself onto his side, to spit it out, but his right arm wasn’t working. He turned his head and caught sight of a hole in his ebony armor, pierced right through his chest, exactly the size of a dragon’s tooth.

I’m going to die, he thought, with painful, stunning clarity, and everything started to hurt.

Then Valerie was there, holding him up in her arms somehow so that he stopped choking, unbuckling his chestpiece with a shaking hand.

“Oh gods,” she kept saying, whispering to herself like a chant, like a prayer. “Oh gods, oh gods, ok, you can do this, ok—”

He tried to say her name, but then his mouth was full of blood and he was choking again. She moaned, terrified, and then she was screaming, calling out for help, crying and shouting and saying his name, over and over and—

His vision blurred, then cleared. His chest was burning, radiating with heat. Valerie was saying something, but not to him. She wasn’t screaming anymore and he could breathe again, but he couldn’t focus on anything and her words sounded far away, like he was underwater. He could see her face, pale and blood-smeared and still afraid. There were shadows around them, coming closer.

“As many potions as you—”

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, and he knew it. The spell she was using wasn’t working. It didn’t feel like it had when she had healed him in Blackreach, warm and sweet and full of light. He _hurt_ , his chest hurt, the spell hurt. He knew enough about battle injuries to realize that the dragon’s tooth had punctured his lung.  

The shadows lengthened, resolving themselves into shapes, into people, before blurring and warping again—

“—on the fastest horse you have. Turn left before the Keep, tell them I’m the—”

He was going to die. He wondered if his father was out there somewhere, in that crowd of shades surrounding him. Maybe he would reach out, extend his hand to Argis, ready to take him to Sovngarde, to the stars.

And then someone was pushing through the crowd, and coming closer—

“—on my arm, just like we practiced with the flowers. You’re doing a great job, sweetheart, you’re being so brave—”

His vision and his mind cleared enough to see Maeri, kneeling next to Valerie in the dirt, sobbing and shuddering and clasping Valerie’s right forearm with both hands. The space where her palms met Valerie’s skin glowed with a pale, golden light. Valerie had one hand on his chest, pressing painfully on his wound; the other hand, supported by Maeri, was twisted, clenched, pulsing a frightening, angry red.

I’m sorry, Maeri, he thought as he watched her crying. Sorry that she had to see him like this, before he died. Sorry that he hadn’t been there to see her grow up, that he wouldn’t be there tomorrow, for her or her brother. Sorry that he wouldn’t see her again, that he wouldn’t get to watch her learning magic at that school they were going to build, in Falkreath. He wondered if she’d liked that wooden sword he’d gotten for her, that Lucia picked out in Whiterun. He hadn’t had the chance to ask.

The stars looked huge, burning white in the darkness. He felt cold, which was almost funny. He was never cold. It was Valerie, Valerie who was always cold. She didn’t look cold now, though. She just looked scared.

“—no no no, no, Argis, look at me, stay awake for me, please—”

He had always thought that when his time came to die, he would do it bravely. He was a soldier, a warrior. He knew exactly where he was going, exactly what would happen to him after he died. What was there to be afraid of?

But looking at Valerie’s panicked, helpless face… Who was going to pull her bedroll up to her shoulders, when she got cold in the middle of the night? Who was going to carry all her spellbooks, and her potions, and complain that she’d packed too much? Who was going to hold her when she cried? When she thought she wasn’t good enough, strong enough, brave enough _—_ who was going to tell her that she was all of it, and everything else besides?

_Bretons don’t go to Sovngarde, Argis_ , she had told him.

He couldn’t imagine a world without her in it, this one or the next.

“—You’re not going anywhere without me, I won’t let you, I—”

He wasn’t going anywhere without her. He would find her again.

“—I’m not going to let you die. You’re not allowed to die, Argis, do you hear me?”

_I’ll do anything you want,_ he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. He was so tired, suddenly, and so cold. It took all the effort he had to look into her dark eyes. _I love you,_ he thought. _Don’t be afraid. I’m still here._

But then the stars blurred, and everything went white, and he was gone.

***

Sovngarde smelled of bacon.

He was lying down somewhere, with his eyes shut. He inhaled, wondering if Sovngarde actually smelled like bacon all the time, or if that was just what was being served at the feast that was being held at the Hall of Valor in his honor.

He opened his eyes to find out, and saw the wooden beams of the ceiling of his mother’s house, and—his eyes shifted, off to the left—his mother, sitting in a chair next to the bed, knitting. He tried to turn his head, but couldn’t.

“Ma?” he said. His voice sounded like crushed rocks.

“Oh!” His mother stood up, hand on her heart, the knitting falling to the floor, the needles clattering on the wood. “He’s awake, he’s awake!” she shouted, towards the door of the room, then reached over to him, touching his face. “How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing his hair from his forehead.

Not dead, apparently. He swallowed. “Strange,” he ground out. “Why can’t I… Ma, I can’t move.” His limbs felt dead, heavy. He had felt like this before, thanks to that mage, Falion, in Morthal. He was…

He was paralyzed.

He could feel his heart start to beat faster. He tried to look down at his body, but the most he could see was his right arm, wrapped in a sling, bent at the elbow. He thought he might be sick. He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t died. But oh, gods, if he couldn’t get out of bed again…

“Oh, yes, they mentioned that— Valerie, and the wizard, they’ve given you some potions, to keep you still while—”

Wizard? he thought, but instead he said, _“Valerie.”_

“I’ll get her,” Gertrun said, quickly, moving towards the door. “She might still be asleep, the wizard gave her some potions, too, but I’ll just—”

But he could already hear her footsteps outside in the hall. He’d know her tread anywhere, but it sounded slower, heavier than normal, and when she appeared next to him, she looked completely, utterly exhausted. Her hair was lank, falling into her face, which was sickly and sallow looking, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. But she was smiling at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he thought he’d never been so happy to see her.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m not dead.”

“You sure tried,” she told him, laughing and crying at the same time, and then she was crawling up onto the bed next to him and curling into his side, carefully avoiding the right side of his body. Argis heard the sound of the door creaking shut as his mother left the room. “You came really close, Argis. You were out for four days.”

“Four days?” he echoed.

“I slept through two of them.” Her voice was muffled, and although he couldn’t feel anything, he thought she might have her face pressed into his side.

He liked the thought of her so close to him. He wished he could move his arms to hold her. “I can’t move,” he said. He had so many questions, but he couldn’t make himself say more than a few words at a time. His eyes were sliding closed again.

“Mmm,” Valerie murmured. “Calcelmo made a potion to help… to help you…” Her voice trailed off.

What the fuck was Jarl Igmund’s wizard doing in Black Mountain? “Calcelmo?” he repeated.

“Mmm. Jofnir got him for me.”

She was obviously delirious. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer either. “Sleep more,” he suggested, and by the time she murmured her assent, he had already drifted off.

When he woke again it was dark. Valerie was in the chair beside him, reading a book, a ball of candlelight glittering above her head, throwing little rainbows over her dark hair. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and she was frowning a little as she read. He could move again; he tried to turn to look at her, smiling. In his whole life, he had never seen anyone so beautiful.

She looked up. “Hey,” she said softly, closing the book and putting it on the little dresser next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a dragon chewed me up and spat me out,” he said. “And also like I would really, really like to kiss you again.”

She laughed. “My poor Argis. I’ll take pity on you, shall I?” She leaned forward toward him, pushing his hair off his face with both hands. Her mouth was warm and gentle and sweet on his, and she smelled like flowers, and he was very, very glad he wasn’t in Sovngarde right now.

“You smell good,” he murmured, when she pulled back. She must have bathed while he’d been sleeping.

“Mmm. Thank you.” She ran a cool hand over his forehead. “You… not so much.”

He laughed, sudden and loud, and then winced at the pain in his chest. “Fuck.”

Frowning, she moved around to the other side of the bed. His chest was bandaged, and she started to lift the wraps slowly, then put her hand where the skin looked tight and shiny, a raw, red, circle of flesh. He remembered seeing a hole there, where the dragon’s tooth had gone through the ebony armor. He swallowed. “What… what happened?”

“A dragon chewed you up and spat you out,” she reminded him. Her hand lit up with a yellow light, and warmth spread through his chest. He sighed with pleasure. The space where the hole had been tingled. “Spat you several dozen feet, in fact. One of its teeth went through your lung and broke some ribs. You shoulder got dislocated, too.”

He swallowed again, trying not to think about what that all meant.

She stopped her spell, but her hand lingered on his chest. “We’re pretty sure you’ll be able to use your arm again, but you’ll need to retrain yourself with your sword. It could take some time.”

She spoke so gently, it was hard not to cry. He nodded instead, trying to sort through everything in his mind. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Calcelmo. He was the closest person I could think of who had a decent knowledge of restoration magic. Jofnir rode to Markarth to get him, he took your neighbor’s horse. Was back in just a few hours. Apparently he made so much of a fuss that half of Markarth tried to come back with him to make sure you were all right.”

He had no idea what to say to that. “Wow. That’s… Huh.”

She stroked his chest one last time, then crossed the room again, settling back in the chair beside the bed. He watched her, staring at her small, pale hands smoothing her dress over her knees as she tucked her legs back under herself. She wasn’t wearing her usual rings, and her hands looked bare, soft and vulnerable.

“You double conjured,” he said, still staring at her hands. “There were two storm atronachs.”

Her hands stilled. “Yeah.”

He could remember more, now: her hand twisting, glowing a sickly, throbbing red. Maeri, crying, holding on to Valerie’s arm, trying to heal her as she drained her lifeblood away. For him. Because of him. “And you used that spell. From Falion.”

“Equilibrium.” Her voice was quiet. “I had to.”

“You could have _died_ , Valerie.”

He waited for her response to that, but none came. He sighed, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling. After a moment, Valerie’s candlelight spell blinked out. He let his eyes get used to the darkness. “Is Maeri all right?”

He could see her nodding in the dark. “She’s all right. She was here earlier, but you were still sleeping. She was scared, but… I think she’s happy that she was able to help.” The chair creaked as she shifted, pulling her legs out from underneath her. “Alma and Jofnir seemed pretty proud of her. They’re taking the whole mage thing all right, actually.” She paused. “I told them about the Dragonborn thing, too. About all of it.”

He smiled at that. “I’m pretty sure the whole village knows by now.”

She let out a small laugh. “Calcelmo _is_ a terrible gossip. That probably doesn’t help.”

The silence that followed was soft and comforting. Argis was tired, but not quite ready to sleep again. “Do you need to go to bed?” he asked her.

“Nah. I’m not that sleepy.”

“What are you reading?”

She lit her candlelight spell again and showed him the worn brown cover. “Look familiar?”

He laughed out loud. “Kolb and the Dragon? Is that my old copy? Where’d you dig that out of?”

She opened the front to show him inside: “Argis Strong-Shield” was scrawled several times, at least two of the “R”s backwards, along with a small, sword-wielding stick figure and “HANDS OFF ALMA” in smudged charcoal.

“Figured I deserved a break from spellbooks. Maeri gave it to me. I’m pretty put off by the subtitle, though: ‘An Adventure for Nord Boys?’ What kind of nonsense is that? Why can’t a Breton girl have an adventure?”

He laughed again. It felt good. “How’re you doing so far?”

She frowned. “I’ve been poisoned by a high elf and turned into soup by an orc.”

He sighed in mock disappointment. “Start at the beginning again, and let a Nord man show you how it’s done.” He put his arm—the left one, the one that he could move—behind his head and got comfortable against the pillow.

She snorted, but flipped the pages back and started reading out loud. “Kolb was a brave Nord warrior. One day his chief asked Kolb to slay an evil dragon that threatened their village. ‘Go through the mountain pass, Kolb,’ his chief said. ‘You will find the dragon on the other side.’”

“Oh, hello,” Argis interrupted. “This sounds familiar.”

She hushed him, but she was laughing. “Do you want me to read this to you or not?”

He grinned at her. “Keep going. I’ll be good.”

***

The following morning brought a stream of visitors, including a tearful reunion with Maeri; an uncomfortable conversation with Jofnir (where both of them cleared their throats until Argis thanked him awkwardly for riding to Markarth to fetch the wizard, and Jofnir thanked Argis awkwardly for nearly dying trying to save the village); a very bizarre moment with an astoundingly cheerful Calcelmo, who checked his bandages while whistling a bawdy tavern song; and a surprise visit from Vorstag, who had followed his brother-in-law and Calcelmo out of Markarth as soon as he realized what was going on.

“You fucking stupid ass, charging a dragon, you great big fucking idiot, what did you think you were doing, I’m so glad you’re not dead,” Vorstag said, half shouting, half crying. He was teary with emotion as he took Argis’ face in both hands and planted a wet, tearful kiss on his forehead. “Fucking Talos’ great big sweaty balls, Argis, I swear that if you’d died I would have clawed my way to Sovngarde to fucking kill you again myself.”

“Good to see you, Vorstag,” he said, muffled the the press of Vorstag’s cheek to his. “I missed you too, brother.”

Valerie was hovering in the doorway; when he pulled his face away from Vorstag’s, she had her hand over her mouth, struggling valiantly not to laugh.

Later that night, Alma came and sat with him while Valerie helped his mother with dinner.

“We’re fixing your armor,” she told him as she settled into the chair by the bed, making herself comfortable. “It might take a while for us to get the materials, but it should be ready by the time you’re back up to scratch.” She nodded towards his right arm, still wrapped in a sling.

“Thanks,” Argis said, pleased. But… “I was under the impression that you weren’t working the forge anymore.”

She sighed, and he felt bad for bringing it up. “I know you don’t like Jofnir, Argis.”

“It’s fine.” It was. That morning’s apology from his brother-in-law had been awkward, but he thought that maybe things were resolved between them. The man rode to Markarth alone, risking his life by passing Forsworn settlements and gods knew what else was out there, to convince an Altmer mage, of all people, to come back with him to Black Mountain. He and Jofnir would never be friends, he thought, and he was still an asshole, but Argis was willing to call a truce. “We won’t fight again.”

Alma sighed again, staring down at her lap, rubbing a bit of the fabric of her dress between her fingers. “When you left…” she began, “when you left to join the Legion, and his uncle sent him here to help… I was… it was really hard, Argis. Ma was not herself, and you were gone, and da, and I was so _lonely_ …”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. “Alma…”

But she kept speaking. “And one thing led to another, you know, and then all of a sudden I was pregnant, and I thought I’d ruined my life, and that he’d be out of the village on the next caravan, but… he was so _happy_ , Argis. He wanted to marry me, and...” She shook her head, smiling, looking off into the distance, somewhere he couldn’t see. “You should have seen him.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you two,” he said. And he did. He loved Maeri, and… He frowned, wondering what it was that it was bothering him about her story. By the time Maeri had been born, Alma and Jofnir had already been married for a year or two…

“It was a few weeks after the wedding when I lost the baby,” she said, and he swallowed, stunned. “We had Maeri the next year, but then I lost two more, and—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. Gods. “I’m sorry, it’s all right, you don’t have to—”

She was looking down at her lap again, and her voice was steady, but she was gripping the fabric of her dress so hard he thought she might tear it. “—and there was another baby, a boy, a few years after Maeri, but by the time he was born he was already gone.” She tilted her head, still staring down. “Jofnir was there for me the whole time. I don’t know what I would have done without him. But after all that, and raising Maeri, and helping ma when she hurt her leg— the forge just didn’t seem very important to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling like an asshole, hating himself for assuming, for not realizing how complicated people’s lives could be. “I didn’t mean— I didn’t know.”

She shrugged. “You couldn’t have known. I’ll get back to smithing full time one day, I hope. I just... needed some time.” She looked over at him, meeting his eyes. They were dry and calm; he was the one who felt like crying. “Do you understand?”

He was struck, then, by how much older she looked than the picture he kept of her in his memory. There were little lines etched by her eyes and her mouth, although her hair was still golden, just like Maeri’s, just like she’d worn it when she was younger, in a long braid down her back.

Dragons or no dragons, war or no war. The world went on. There was joy, and pain.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “I love you, Alma. You’re a good mother.”

She patted his good shoulder, and smiled. “I know I am, you big idiot. I love you, too.”

***

He could get out of bed on the third day. Bit by bit, he walked around the room slowly, leaning on Vorstag’s arm. When he got to the doorway, Valerie rewarded him with a kiss; since it hurt him to bend down she had to stand on a trunk, and Vorstag laughed at them with tears in his eyes until Valerie, mid-kiss, pushed her hand in his face to silence him.

Vorstag twisted out of her reach, then backed away, his hands raised in surrender. “Just promise me I won’t be here to see what you do when he makes it down the stairs!”

It was two days before he finally did make it down the stairs, and then two days after that until he could remove the sling from his arm. He’d been driving himself crazy, trying to do everything one handed, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Valerie and Calcelmo unwrapped him, even though his arm felt weak and wobbly. Calcelmo pronounced his recovery satisfactory and pressed one more small healing spell into his shoulder. Argis had been surprised to realize that Valerie’s healing magic felt different than the wizard’s; while hers was warm, soothing and sweet and almost erotic in the pleasure it gave him, Calcelmo’s healing spell was like a hot pulse that made him gasp.

And when he did gasp from it, Valerie patted his good shoulder and told him to breathe through it.

“You’ll need to train that arm up again to regain your strength, but you can handle that yourself, can’t you, Bulwark?” Calcelmo was saying. Argis nodded.

“Good, good,” Calcelmo said, distracted. “Now where’s that Vorstag gotten to, it’s time we headed back to Markarth…” He trilled goodbye from the doorway; now that he’d pronounced Argis healed, he seemed even happier than he’d been in the last week.

When Vorstag came back up the stairs to say goodbye, Argis asked why the old wizard was so eager to get back to the Keep—he had always been under the impression that Calcelmo spent most of his days in frustration, yelling at his nephew.

Vorstag frowned. “I shouldn’t say.” He looked over his shoulder at the doorway, as if to make sure they were alone.

Argis glanced at Valerie. “We can keep a secret.”

“Well…”

Argis grinned; Vorstag was a terrible gossip, and always caved under the slightest pressure.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve said anything, but he’s taken up with Faleen.” Vorstag raised his eyebrows.

Argis felt his mouth drop open. “Faleen? Like, Faleen, housecarl of Jarl Igmund, Faleen?”

“The very same. There were letters. It was a whole thing,” Vorstag said, waving his hand.

“Wow. I never thought she was interested in… well, anyone, really.” She’d always been so private, even when they were stationed together. There had been times in the Legion when it seemed like every soldier had a different man or woman warming their bed every night—he and Vorstag included—but she’d always gone back to her tent alone.

And Calcelmo… Argis didn’t know him well at all, to be honest, but wasn’t he, like… 80?

“I think that’s very sweet,” said Valerie, interrupting his thoughts, and reaching over to squeeze Argis’ hand. “We should all take advantage of love when we find it.”

Argis nearly laughed out loud at that, thinking of how long they had danced around each other, but stopped himself just in time. The last thing he needed was to annoy her when things were finally going so well between them.

“And on that note,” she continued, pointing at Vorstag now, “ _you_ should write back to Marcurio! I know he’s been in touch with you!”

Vorstag rolled his eyes, but his expression was fond as he headed toward the door and the stairs down to the kitchen. “You can’t set me up with every male friend you have just because they also like men, Valerie.”

“I’m _not_!” Valerie protested, trailing after him. “I just think you’d be really good together!”

And Argis, laughing, followed them down the stairs.

Later that night, Argis laid down to rest while Valerie read next to him, curled up in the chair by the bed with her legs tucked underneath her. It was a little routine they had settled into over the past week while he recovered. During the day she liked to keep him company; the potions and spells that made up the healing process made him sleepy, and he often dozed in the sunlight that streamed through the windows with her next to him in the chair. When he woke she’d always be there, still, sometimes with his mother or his sister or his niece by her side. He’d wake up slowly, smiling, his eyes still closed, listening to her chattering or reading to Maeri out loud, letting her voice wash over him.

At night, worried about crowding the bed and hurting him, she insisted on sleeping in Maeri’s room with his niece and his mother. She stayed with him, though, until the exertions of the day caught up with him and he felt tired. Then she’d extinguish her candlelight spell, cast one more gentle healing spell for his shoulder and his chest, kiss him sweetly, and cross the hall to his niece’s room.

Argis couldn’t deny that he wanted her in bed with him, wanted to wake up in the morning with her wrapped around him, her hair spread across his chest and the pillow. He was content to wait, though, because he could touch her, now, like he hadn’t before, and he did it every chance he got. His palm on the soft skin on the back of her neck, rubbing there gently when she was tired. Covering her hand with his, stroking it and marveling at how soft it was, how small it felt underneath his own. And kissing her. Gods, _kissing_ her—pressing a kiss to her lips, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. He could do all of that now, instead of just thinking about it, instead of just wishing, and he would never, ever get tired of the fact that she seemed to want him just as much as he did. She kissed with fire, like she wanted to drown in him; she liked when he tugged her closer, when his hand cupped the back of her head, tangling in her hair. There was a spot behind her ear where his mouth made her shiver, a little bit of teeth and she’d melt against him, moaning.

The two of them were like teenagers, making out every chance they had, pressing themselves together when no one around, springing apart guiltily whenever they heard someone on the stairs or coming around the corner. Well, he reasoned, Valerie was the one who seemed guilty; he didn’t give a shit if anyone saw them, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

But Valerie felt bad, she told him, fooling around in his mother’s house when she’d been so kind to let her stay. She didn’t want to make her feel awkward. If he knew his mother, she'd probably respond to any awkwardness with a request for another grandchild, but thought better of mentioning it. 

Once Vorstag and Calcelmo left, he and Valerie settled into a new routine. In the mornings he’d go outside and work on the attack dummy one of the villagers had put up for him in the field next to the house, trying to build the strength back into his arm and weakened shoulder. Valerie would stay with him to keep him company, making sure he didn’t over-exert himself, and, if he did, to press a gentle healing spell into his shoulder or his chest. There was a little corner of the fence where she’d perch, wrapped in her cloak and reading or having coffee and watching him, and Jofnir had built a fire nearby so she didn’t get cold. Maeri would join them for a bit in the mornings, so she and Valerie could work on her spellwork, and sometimes the rest of the family or the other villagers would stop by to talk, and check on his progress. They’d break for lunch, spend some time resting in the house, playing with the baby or helping his mother, and they’d come back out so he could train again for an hour or so before dinner.

One afternoon the winter sun set with a blazing red that made the mountains around them glitter. Finished with his exercises, he stood in front of Valerie as she sat, balancing on the fence, and pushed healing magic into his aching shoulder.

“Gods,” he moaned, his voice low, warmth flowing through his arm. “That feels so _good_.”

When he glanced at her, her eyes were dark and glittering in the fading light, and he stepped between her legs and kissed her, hard. She gasped but responded eagerly, and he felt her skirts pushing against him as she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Her mouth was hot and wet against his, sweet and soft, soft like the rest of her, and he kissed her until he decided he wanted her to make that little shiver again, so he broke away from her mouth to kiss her neck, trailing back to that spot behind her ear.

She shivered, and then he was the one gasping. Fuck, she smelled good.

“Argis,” she hissed. “Argis—oh gods—people will… people will see us!”

“Don’t care,” he grunted, inhaling again. “Want you.” He nuzzled against her neck. She let out a little moan, shifting against him. He pulled one hand away from her back quickly, then snaked it under the fabric of her heavy cloak, where it parted in the front. He clutched at her side, at the waist of her dress—the blue one, today—wanting desperately to feel the warmth of her skin. The top of the cloak spread open with his movements, exposing the pale expanse of skin there, crisscrossed with her tangle of necklaces and charms. He pulled back so he could look at her, her dark eyes half-closed in pleasure, her cheeks flushed and pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her chest heaving as she inhaled the cold air. The front of her dress had tugged down, a bit, from him clutching at her side, and he could see more than he usually did. The lacy edge of her breast binding peeked through on top of the fabric, and—

Fuck, he thought, suddenly remembering Whiterun, the night where she’d tried to take her dress off in front of him and he— He pushed his face into her neck again, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself, then tugged the front of her cloak back over her.

“Argis?” she whispered.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, his face still pushed into her neck, his voice muffled. “Don’t hate me.”

She pulled him up to face her, clasping the top of her cloak together with one hand, as she looked at him, confused.

Her face kept the same puzzled expression as he told her about that night in Whiterun, when she drank too much and unlaced her dress in the dark of her little loft room. When he was done, she was frowning.

“So let me get this straight,” she began. “I tried to drunkenly seduce you, you turned me down and put me to bed, and you… feel bad?”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

“Because… you wanted to sleep with me? But you didn’t. But you thought about it. And then instead you kissed me on the forehead and tied my dress back up and tucked me into bed?”

He nodded again.

“And… you’ve been torturing yourself about this ever since, haven’t you?”

He looked up to meet her eyes, shocked to find that she was actually smiling. “...Yeah. Kind of.”

She laughed, then, and pulled him close again to kiss him on the forehead, the top of his nose, his cheeks. “You silly man,” she said, when she was done, and he watched her grin at him, amazed. “I’m not mad. You’re fine.”

“I…” he began, frowning. “Really?”

“Mmm hmm.” She traced the tattoo on his right cheek with her fingertips. “I’m sorry if I made things awkward for you.” She paused in her movements. “Was this the reason you were acting so odd when we left Whiterun? Because… Because the next morning I said…”

“That you were glad you hadn’t done something you’d regret,” he answered for her.

She sighed. “Oh, Argis.” She pushed his hair back and resumed tracing the lines and scars on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and let her explore his face with gentle fingers. “It did cross my mind. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. And you had just taken that warhammer to the chest like a big stupid idiot—”

He chuckled.

“—and I was so terrified that I’d lose you, that I... It scared me, how much I loved you already.”

He opened his eyes, his face still in her hands. “Valerie,” he said, his voice rough, and leaned forward to kiss her again.

He held her close, kissing her as she whispered again and again that she loved him, the words brushing over his mouth as she kissed him back. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in the dying light, until the sun set and his sister shouted at them to come in for dinner.

***

The next morning, he woke up with Valerie in his bed.

“G’morning,” she murmured.

“Mmfh,” he said, in response, pushing his face into her hair. Then he pulled back, confused. “What’re you doing here?” He was suddenly very aware of her soft, warm body, pressed against his, her leg draped across his waist.

“Got cold.” She shifted a little, still wrapped against him. He could feel the press of her breasts through her tunic, pushing up against the side of his ribs.

He swallowed. “Likely story.”

She gave a low laugh, twisting against him again. “You weren’t even awake when I came in, so—” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “ _Well._ You’re definitely awake now, aren’t you.” She pressed her thigh down the tiniest fraction, rubbing it against his very, very awake erection.

“S-sorry,” he stammered. Gods, he hadn’t even touched her and here he was, poking at her like an uncontrollable teenager. “I didn’t, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize,” she assured him. She moved her thigh, letting the full length of him press against her. “Oh. Wow.” She raised both eyebrows, this time. “ _Definitely_ don’t apologize.”

He let out a laugh that turned into a groan. She moved off of him, and it turned into a groan of disappointment at the loss of the warmth of her, the delicious friction. She wriggled further up the bed, so her face was next to his, and gave him a sweet, deep kiss that left him breathless. Her hand stroked his neck, then trailed further down his chest.

“Argis?” She kissed his jaw, her thumb brushing over his nipple.

He swore under his breath.

Her hand trailed lower. “Ar- _gis_ ,” she said again.

“What?” he gasped.

“Can you be quiet?”

“What?” he gasped again. She was kissing his neck, her hand stroking the muscles of his abdomen, and his head was spinning. His cock ached.

“I have something to confess to you too, now,” she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. “I’ve _heard_ you, before, when you... You’re very noisy.”

She’d heard… she’d—

Oh, he thought. Oh, gods. Oh, _gods_ —

He knew he should be embarrassed. He should be _mortified_. But her hand was so warm on his stomach, her mouth so hot on his neck, and fuck, the thought of her listening to him as he—

Her breasts brushed against him briefly, gently, and he let out a high-pitched whine that made her laugh, low in his ear.

“So…” She punctuated each word with a kiss to his neck, his jaw. “Can. You. Be. Quiet?”

He nodded frantically, and she let out a breath as her hand made its way, down, down, teasing and slow, to the ties of his trousers.

Someone knocked on his door, loudly and rapidly. He jumped, swearing again, and Valerie pulled her hand away and buried herself under his blanket.

“What!” he shouted, in the direction of his door. “What!”

It was Maeri, and the hesitation in her voice made him feel awful for yelling. “Have you seen Valerie? I wanted to ask her something.”

He swallowed, not wanting to lie to her. He tried to make his answer come out pleasant. “Did you look outside? Maybe she went for a walk?”

She called to him that she would check. He heard her steps disappearing down the hall and he sighed in relief, falling back against the headboard. The top of Valerie’s head peeked out from underneath the blanket, her hair a dark, curling mess. She peered at him, and he heard her giggle. “Sorry. Too late now. I should go.”

He lifted his head and let it fall back against the headboard again as she extricated herself from under the covers. “Fuck.”

She leaned over him to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. He tried not to look down her shirt.

“How much longer do you think before your arm is back to normal again?”

He flexed his right arm, hoping that some of the blood would head there instead of where it was loitering currently. “A couple days?” Over the last few weeks his exercises had been diligent, and as long as he kept the muscles strong enough and moving, he thought that it would soon be like he’d never been injured. His chest had, thanks to Valerie and Calcelmo, essentially fully healed, although the round scar was still there, red and shiny.

She nodded, biting her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes ran over him. “When you’re ready, we can go to Solitude. There’s a nice inn there, and we can get the upstairs room. We’ll stay as long as we want. There’ll be no one to bother us, and—” she raised her eyebrows, her voice now a whisper, “—it has a really, really big bed.”

“Gods, I fucking love you,” he managed, and she laughed at him, her head falling back.

“Good,” she said, and grinned. “You better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that this story now has an end point - if my outline stays where I want it, the 36th chapter should be the last. But, if you are sad, it's pretty much guaranteed that they'll all be long chapters, so don't be too upset! 
> 
> Also, it's coming up on a YEAR since I started posting this, which is so crazy to me. Thank you all so much for reading and letting me know what you think, you are all amazing and very appreciated! 
> 
> And as a reward, like 75% of the next chapter takes place in a bed. FINALLY, I know I know ;)


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